Hookups and Hangups
by springandbysummerfall
Summary: Chi Chi and her boyfriend Goku have set their disaster of a friend Bulma up on a blind date, but Bulma and the mystery man can't utter a single nice word to each other. Even after they inadvertently wind up in bed together. A light hearted jaunt through booty calls and repressed feelings.
1. Chapter 1

Chi Chi groaned and gently tugged the last curler from her silky black hair. "_Bulma_. Your expectations are too high. You are never going to find a man like that. Don't think of it like lowering your standards, think of it like being effing REASONABLE!"

Bulma let out an unladylike, unscrupulous snort as she applied a bright shade of red lipstick to her pursed lips. Chi Chi yanked it from her fingers. "Give me. You truly are terrible at being a girl. Flatten your lips."

"If I have to be an old maid for the rest of my life while the rest of you are changing dirty diapers and complaining about your husband's man boobs, than I will," Bulma cracked as Chi Chi drew red stain over Bulma's parted lips, earning a little slap on the arm.

"Wow, Bulma. You are a piece of work, you know that," Chi Chi griped as she threw the lipstick back onto the vanity and sat on the bed to slip on her heels.

Bulma giggled and shrugged on her cardigan, before shooting herself a wink and a thumbs up in the mirror. Chi Chi watched, beleaguered and amused, out the corner of her eyes. Bulma grabbed up her peacoat from the bed and promptly fell on her back onto it with a big "hmph," blowing her hair out of her eyes as she stared at the ceiling.

"First brains. Then beauty." She put her counting fingers in Chi Chi's face. "Then class. That's all I'm asking."

Chi Chi rolled her eyes and stood dismissively, adjusting her cleavage before throwing on her own knee length wool coat.

"What were your exact words? You want a man that is 'stunningly handsome, chivalrous-'"

"Don't forget filthy rich."

"-with a, what was it? Benevolent mouth, whatever _that _means," she grumbled, "and a sweet and whispering adoration- -oh my god, Bulma, what, did you fail poetry class?- - a _whispering adoration_ in the bedroom-"

"That rivals his success in the field of neuroscience and mechanical engineering. What? That's not too much to ask. Just because it's not your type of man, as evidenced by your goofball of a boyfriend-"

"Too far, Bulma, too far!" Chi Chi warned.

Bulma smiled and wrapped her scarf around her neck, leaning against the front door of the women's shared apartment. "I love Goku. He's great. Seriously, you guys are really good for each other," she said sincerely. Chi Chi looked touched, until Bulma continued. "_Surprisingly_. But really, you have my blessing."

"Couldn't just leave it at the compliment, could you, Briefs," Chi Chi complained before bumping Bulma out of the way with her hip and jerking open the front door. "Goku is sweet, and talented, and amazing," the raven haired woman gushed against the screen door as Bulma locked the wood door and pocketed the keys.

"Not to mention he makes the best wontons," Bulma added.

"Aw. Yeah," Chi Chi smiled wistfully, cheeks pinkening. "He loves to eat. It makes sense he'd love to cook. But no. He leaves the cooking to me. Except the wontons, for whatever reason," she grouched.

"Oh, admit it, Cheech, you love taking care of him. Just like you love taking care of me," Bulma said brightly.

Chi Chi cut her an amused look. "It'd just be nice if someone cooked for _me_ once in awhile."

"Better you than me," Bulma responded drily. "My dream man's going to make me breakfast and dinner every day, served with a little flower in a vase on the side."

"That's because you couldn't fry an egg if your life depended on it."

Bulma scoffed playfully. "Yeah, well, I could use a man who'd cook for me. The Thai Place down the street is starting to ask me how my mother's bunions are doing."

"Why are you talking about your life with them anyway," Chi Chi asked flatly.

"I'm lonely," Bulma responded forlornly, clutching her friends arm and resting her head on her shoulder.

"That's why we're trying to get you to go out with us," Chi Chi cajoled.

"Oh, not this again."

"Goku says he thinks you'll really like this guy!" Chi Chi gave her friend a pleading look that Bulma translated as 'You are absolutely pitiful.'

"Oh, whatever," Bulma snapped. "He just better be cute. And filthy rich. And extremely intelligent. Oh, and doting. He better be willing to rub my feet. In fact, I'm now making that a requirement for potential boyfriends. I expect it to be in bold on their resumes."

"It's decreed!" Chi Chi exclaimed, giggling.

"For realsies. Or Goku owes me a carton of pad thai. And have him ask how Mai Lee's cousin is doing, you know, the one who gambled all his wife's savings away."

"Oh, Bulma, you're sad."

The women sauntered down the city street, the Saturday nightlife muffled by traffic and a violet sky that threatened snow.

"Make sure he tells them to leave the vegetables out. I don't like vegetables."

"Yeah, sure, Briefs," Chi Chi groused, sighing. "At this rate, you're never going to get a man."

#####

The women entered the noisy restaurant and bar, their hair settling around their faces as the door shut slowly against the wind.

Chi Chi searched the room until she found Goku's familiar hair and pulled Bulma towards him by her coat sleeve with barely restrained excitement.

Bulma was already snoring. The people crowding the bar in this upscale neighborhood frequented by lawyers and accountants was raucous this Saturday night, and she scrunched her nose up in contempt.

Chi Chi shuffled up to Goku and threw her arms around him, squeezing his chest tightly. "Hey! I missed you."

"You saw me last night!" Goku smiled brilliantly, and Bulma tried not to upchuck at their display of affection.

She really did approve of Chi Chi's beau. And despite her admonishments directed towards Bulma's love life, Bulma had seen her no nonsense, purposeful friend tear through a dozen boyfriends since they'd decided to shack up together sophomore year and was happy she finally found a man that fulfilled her.

Broadly alike, they were both hard working women in male dominated fields that weren't afraid to make a decision that somebody wouldn't like. They only looked like opposites. Well, they also kept house differently, in the small way that Chi Chi was totally neurotic about keeping a neat and tidy house while Bulma wasn't ashamed to admit she'd slept in Dorito crumbs the other night.

Chi Chi was slim, almost wiry, with a gymnasts build and a bird's appetite, Bulma thought sourly, albeit an organic, free range only type of bird. She kept her long, straight hair neat and smooth, and her closet was full of very chic skirts and tailored shirts. In fact, Bulma was wearing one of her outfits (trying to) now, since her own wardrobe was full of oversized sweaters and jeans. ("Just because you're a mechanic doesn't mean you have to dress like one," Chi Chi had chided her when Bulma had suggested skipping showering before going out tonight). She even wore these absolutely elegant nighties to bed, in beautiful creams and olives and sapphire blues, whereas Bulma woke up with hair sticking every which way, one side of her boxers stuck a little too far up her butt and her eyes firmly closed until she'd had her fourth cup of coffee. Bulma didn't know how Chi Chi did it. Magic, she guessed. Bulma tried to mimic her friend's self control when they first became friends, only to have given up a few minutes in, once she decided it was just something people were born with.

Yes, while both women were dedicated to their career's and got along pleasantly (in the sometimes catty way that girl friends do), there was a stark difference between them that was noticeable to everybody. Bulma was shorter, with a rounder face and body, and was often mistaken to be much younger than she was, but not when it mattered like when she was getting carded. Chi Chi was impressionably, unquestionably a lady, and Bulma...well, the only thing she had going for her was her chest, and it just wasn't enough to seal the deal between her and a guy.

Chi Chi had tried to set her up with some of her and Goku's high profile friends, and it had been a nuclear fallout. A few had been interested, in an amused way, upon hearing her profession, but none of them amused _her_. Bulma found them all particularly stuffy, and conceited, and typical, and for all that she went on about finding a rich man to take care of her, Bulma had very limited patience for them. Once she'd snidely remarked to a date that she'd use his MBA for toilet paper for all she cared about laissez faire capitalism, and that had been the last time Chi Chi tried to set her up on a date.

Bulma smiled suddenly, indulgently at her friend, who was trying to convince Goku that they should have sushi Monday night and go see a film, and Goku look pained as he tried to- -carefully, very carefully- -suggest eating take out and watching a movie at home instead. Bulma smirked as Chi Chi oscillated between wanting to override Goku and being flabbergasted that he didn't want to go. After all, Bulma went to the indie theater every Tuesday night to shovel popcorn into her maw and enjoy some sort of poorly funded film with subtitles, wouldn't her Neanderthal of a boyfriend? Bulma put her hand on Goku's shoulder and gave them a dazzling smile, insisting smugly that there was a place right next to the theater that had the best Indian cuisine that they would both enjoy.

She had watched Goku, of all people- -a sunnily cheerful, laid back, unambitious lawyer in a top firm- -open Chi Chi up and bring out an affectionate, patient (well, almost patient) side to her friend, a side that no one but Chi Chi's half-cracked single father and Bulma could get out of her. Bulma was grateful for Goku, that a man so good natured and happy just to be alive could so be so appreciative and committed to her severe and ostentatious friend. Together, they were well balanced, and Bulma suspected their relationship would go the distance.

Bulma, on the other hand...

She surveyed Goku's sharp dressed co-worker buddies, wondering which hee-hawing lawyer was her unfortunate date tonight with quickly diminishing enthusiasm. They leaned their elbows on the bar, expensive bottled beer and scotch in their grips, paying no attention to them as they laughed boisterously at some terrible lewd joke.

She knew a few of them. Krillin, the shortest one, was Goku's good friend, and he'd been over to their place a few times for drinks and dinner. Bulma found him pleasant enough and pretty harmless. He wasn't her type, though, and she was glad that he was polite enough to maintain his distance. Well, Bulma's smart mouth probably helped, too.

Then there was Raditz, a cousin of Goku's if she remembered right, and one of the few men she'd ever seen who could pull off a pony tail without looking sleazy. He was handsome, sure, his suit stark against his alabaster skin as he rolled his eyes at something Nappa had said. His lips pulled up in a vainglorious smirk as he winked at the woman bartender like a strutting cock. They hadn't spoken since the last time one of their arguments had gotten out of hand and Bulma had told him that his priggish, haughty attitude and his holier-than-thou fashion sense was only a coverup for his obvious desire to eat a cock.

He had avoided hanging out with her since.

Not that Bulma was complaining.

Chi Chi had berated her for it one night they'd had too much boxed wine, laying out a carefully plotted and considered agenda for why Raditz and Bulma would be good for each other. Once Bulma had picked her jaw up off the floor, she replied, dead serious, "If you're havin' problems setting me up with one of your prick partners, I feel bad for you son, I got 99 problems and Raditz ain't one."

Sure, she had her fair share of teasing her best friend. Chi Chi had looked like her wick was centimeters from explosion, until Bulma licked the rest of the chocolate ice cream off her spoon and asked her if she wanted to go make fun of the contestants on _West City Idol_ with her. Poor Cheech, she just couldn't resist it. Every Wednesday night, she hate-watched West City Idol, and even Goku couldn't get her to get off the couch between 7 and 8 as she yelled at the TV and alternately dabbed her eyes at an underdog contestant's amazing voice.

But Raditz was full of himself and entirely self interested, and he just reminded Bulma of a particular scar-faced ex from college that she hoped was cursed forever to experience excruciating pain in his groin whenever he thought to bring a girl home to the apartment they'd once shared. In memoratum, for remembrance, she thought tantalizingly, scowling.

No, not even Turles, the older, ruggedly handsome man who acted as a mentor to Goku could turn Bulma's head. She watched Nappa down a pint of cheap ale and grimaced. Nevermind that meat head, even as ripped as he was (Chi Chi had said that Goku had told her he consumed nothing but frozen salisbury steak and fruit gummies. Also, way too much Red Bull.)

She'd been through all this before, and if this was the best Chi Chi and Goku could do, she'd rather die an old maid with her carton of pad thai and ice cream clenched in her arms and Scratch on her lap.

Why couldn't Chi Chi understand the appeal of that?

"A Pepsi, please," Bulma instructed the bartender as he approached the women, and they peeled their coats and scarves off as Goku nudged a bar stool towards Chi Chi with his toes.

It wasn't that Bulma was high maintenance that she couldn't 'find' a man, it was just because she was...different. Chi Chi worked hard throughout college, pouring herself unapologetically into her textbooks and practice cases with relentless ambition and single minded focus. Bulma, on the other hand, increasingly shirked on her homework, skipping class to do..._what_? Chi Chi had wondered, or rather, hollered. Why wasn't she taking law school seriously?; this was a very serious matter! "You're not my mom!" Bulma had yelled back juvenilely before stomping out of the house, and then turned around to poke her head back around the corner with a dazzling grin and tell Chi Chi she had dropped out.

"You _what_?" Chi Chi had choked out.

"I dropped out. I'm a small business owner now."

"A _what_?" Chi Chi's eyes looked like they were soon going to roll into the back of her head.

"I opened up my own shop."

"Doing what, pray tell?"

Bulma smiled dazzlingly. "Fixing Volkswagens. I opened up my own shop."

Bulma, as her mother affectionately put it, was a hands on kind of girl and a bit of a daydreamer, and it wasn't until Chi Chi had called Mrs. Briefs (being something like a second daughter at this point) to tell her (shout at her) the news that she finally calmed down and accepted this new event as something-that-was-actually-happening in Bulma's life.

The ever cheery, spacey Mrs. Briefs had actually revealed her excitement at her daughter's plan, and explained that she had always known an orthodox, high profile career was just not in her daughter's acumen.

"Honey, she was accepted into a doctoral program in mechanical engineering when she was 16, and offered a tenured position at 18," Mrs. Briefs had told her moonily as if recalling that one time she'd watched Baby Bulma do a little naked dance in the bath. "It's not like my little girl hasn't already finished college already."

"Then why the _hell _did I meet her as a freshman in college?!" Chi Chi screeched.

"Well," Mrs. Briefs wondered slowly over the phone, "Bulma didn't like feeling like she'd missed all these important milestones, I think. She was lonely. She wasn't satisfied being an 'intellectual sitting duck,' I think she said. She thought law might be a good way to balance her intellect with her argumentative nature. So she quit!" Mrs. Briefs chirped summarily.

"Yeah, she seem to has a habit of that," Chi Chi muttered fussily. She sighed.

"She just has her own way of doing things, hun," Mrs. Briefs assured her. "But don't you think that she doesn't need you. You have been very, very good for her."

Which was why Chi Chi had been biting her tongue, trying to have as much patience as possible for the mess of a woman she called her best friend, and why, eventually, she thought maybe a man was the piece Bulma felt was missing from her life. Except, expectedly, Bulma's stubbornness was getting in the way of finding her someone.

Bulma was content with her line of work and her cat and her romance books and her spotty social life. So why was Chi Chi pushing her to be different? A man wasn't going to make her any happier. She had tried that route in college. No, picking up a man's dirty underwear, staring at her watch as she waited for him to come already and finding him in their bed with another woman was definitely not going to make her life any more meaningful.

Goku pulled out a stool for Bulma and turned his contagious smile to her. "What's up, Bulma? How are you?"

She smiled crookedly and draped her coat and scarf over the stool. "I've been better, honestly, Goku." Chi Chi elbowed her in the ribs. "Just kidding," she corrected her previous statement with poorly disguised, saccharine dishonesty, and Chi Chi rolled her eyes and pulled a lock of Bulma's hair.

"So where's this man Bulma must meet?" Chi Chi interrupted with bursting over- cheeriness, glancing over the group of men guffawing behind Goku with distaste.

"You know what," Bulma interrupted, holding her hands up in placation, "I'm going to go use the little super girl's room. If I can find it through all these accountant bros and bad cologne."

Goku regarded her with open confusion. Chi Chi looked like she was about to rip off Bulma's arm in an attempt to make her stay put.

"I'll be back," she promised, as she though she saw Chi Chi attempt to haul her back over by her ear, but Bulma turned on her heel and hurriedly made her way through the crowd with a sigh.

Only once she assured the valet she could wipe herself, to his silent horror, did she slam the bathroom door shut and fall onto the toilet with a sigh. She loved her friend, she really did, but these kinds of circuses where the boy's club of West City came to throw money around and wait for women to dote on their job positions wasn't her idea of a good time. Once she excited the spacious stall, her flats tapping on the slate tile, she tried ignoring the valet as she reapplied her lipstick, hoping she was doing it right, and kind of patted whatever it was Chi Chi did to her hair back in place. She smoothed the front of her tailored shirt, the buttons really stressed as her chest threatened to pop out of Chi Chi's shirt, and awkwardly wiggled in the pencil skirt, wondering if it was supposed to fit so tightly at the knees that she felt like she was taking little baby steps everywhere. She glanced up at the valet, who glanced away with embarrassed mortification. Hey, at least someone is having a good time tonight, she thought.

Chi Chi had nagged at for not having anything appropriate to wear for the night, at least until Bulma hollered, "_There_! I put on some deodorant! Does that make you happy?! Yeesh!" As she untucked her work shirt from her trousers and pushed her stick of deodorant into her armpit maniacally.

"Bulma," Chi Chi had sighed, resting her forehead in her hand. "I refuse to believe you're a lost cause," assuring herself more than Bulma herself.

Bulma cocked an eyebrow and blew air sharply through her nose. Maybe if she just buried herself in a basket of nachos this blind date guy would leave her alone. This was that kind of bar, wasn't it?

She was relieved when the valet didn't offer to open the door for her, and the sound of glasses tinking, men laughing and Dean Martin crooning floated toward her. The bar and restaurant had somehow gotten even more crowded in the few minutes she had used the restroom, and she tried finding her way back to the bar, slinking through the crowd. It didn't help that she was a petite woman. Her height, she theorized, made it not only hard see Goku's big head but made it nearly impossible to be intimidating, as she finally resorted to trying to push people out of her way.

Just then a man's shoulder knocked her chest as they bumped into each other, her breath escaping in a rush, and her brows knit furiously. "Watch it, buffoon," she growled.

"It's not my fault you got underfoot, half pint," a deep, husky voice countered, and Bulma's mouth thinned as she looked up into the eyes of the prick getting sassy with her.

Rich, dark eyes regarded her from a chiseled, tan face like a bug to be squashed. His expression was severe, despite his full black lashes and his debonair suit, and his sharply angled jaw tightened with disapproval.

"You look like you might best me in height by a few millimeters. What's your problem? Barking chihuahua complex?"

He turned his body to hers to stare down his nose at her more fully. "Rather a Napoleon than a trifling, frothing Marie Antoinette."

"Excuse me?! I am a Marie Curie, get it right!" She snarled.

"I'm sorry," he smiled impishly, "did all that radium exposure hinder your wit, as well as your height?"

"Listen here, bud," she seethed, inching closer to him and gritting her teeth upwards in his face. "I don't have the time or the patience for a Backstreet Boy wannabe like you," she drawled, glancing distastefully up at the man's long, upwards styled hair. "Now mope back to your miserable bloated life on Wall Street and spare me the odor of your hair gel."

The man's- -dashingly handsome, she had to admit- -face turned stormy and he closed the gap between them, chest heaving with restrained irritation.

"Take your ridiculous blue curls and your third slice of cake and get out of your superior's sight, Mademoiselle Antoinette," he hissed in her face, one eyebrow cocking as he measured her offense.

Can steam legitimately come out of one's ears? Bulma thought there might just be a first time for everything.

"Ohhh, you pompous, arrogant, self absorbed, witless bastard," she drew through gnashed teeth.

"Take up more of my time and I will have to charge her," he smiled cruelly, before walking past her, but not before knocking her back lightly with his shoulder. "Besides, I like my Wall Street whores with a little less...cake."

Bulma's nails dug into her clenched fists and she let out a little sound like a shrieking tea kettle as she watched the man walk off leisurely into the crowd. Her mouth opened once, twice, like a fish out of water, and it wasn't until she was able to pry her shoulders down from her ears that she managed a tight, "Yeah, well, the 90's called and they want their box top back! Argh!" She wheedled, and stomped towards the bar, marching in the wrong direction twice before finding her friend, who was trying to maintain a conversation with Raditz and failing to look interested.

"And that's why my agent said I should hold off on the modeling career to wait until after I become a full partner at the firm."

"Uh huh. Well, I'm sure your other partners will at least admire your beauty until you're able to make money off of it. Bulma, hello," she said drily, turning towards her with wide, harried eyes and a tight smile. "Let's go for a smoke," she said through grit teeth, gesturing towards the outside with her eyes. She pulled along her friend to the side door, where the bar boasted a rooftop terrace for warmer weather but was currently adopted by smokers.

"Ohmygod, what is wrong with Raditz lately? Some schmuck put it into his head to model underwear for Kami's sake, and now it's all the man talks about." Chi Chi's tone changed as she frowned with concern at her friend, letting her go and pulling a pack of cigarettes out of her coat pocket. "Jeez, Bulma, you're tense. What's wrong with you."

"I'll tell you what's wrong with me!" The blue haired woman all but yelled, eyes wild as she struck the match and put it to the tip of her cigarette. "You drug me to this awful Wall Street swingers club where I'm pretty sure some freak show just CALLED ME FAT AND SAID I WAS MARIE ANTOINETTE, when _clearly_ I am Marie Curie! I have never heard something so insulting in all my life!"

"Bulma Briefs, you need to get out once in awhile! Scratch can live without you a few hours!"

Bulma knew her friend well enough to detect the whine between the liners of her shouting. She blew smoke angrily and looked pleadingly at her friend. "And what are you talking about, some gy accosted you on the way to the bathroom?"

"He accosted me after the bathroom. The guy was a total nincompoop! And the valet thing is just weird!" Bulma looked up at the cloudy night sky with frustration, her face lit softly by a string of lantern lights that decorated the outside patio railing. "I don't know. It's just, that's why I hate these places. Goku is so sweet, Cheech, don't get me wrong. He's in a league of his own." Chi Chi snorted at that affectionately. "But these are the kinds of assholes I have to prove myself to everyday, they come in driving their brand new BMW's or their restore Ghia's and they're like 'I'm having a carburetor problem, fix it' and I'm like 'No you're not, I'm the professional, and I say it's a transmission problem, and then they're like 'Well I don't feel like paying you now-'"

"Okay, enough car talk, I'm drawing a blank with all this car stuff."

"-okay, but these are just the kinds of assholes, the kind of rich kids who think I'm just a pair of tits, I'm just the fucking secretary or something that somehow blundered into this industry. Well, I'm not. And I'm not scared to tell them off! And they just can't stand being proven wrong by a woman!"

"We all know you're not, Briefs," Chi Chi smiled warmly at her friend before snuffing her cigarette out. "Believe me, you've made that very clear, to everyone you meet. For being a shut in grease monkey, you have a mouth on you the size of a dinner plate."

"Shut up!" Bulma complained before drawing her friend in for a side squeeze.

"The better to give a blow job with," Chi Chi whispered suggestively, opening the door and letting Bulma go first.

"Not interested," Bulma reparteed, smiling, already feeling better. "Please tell me this is the last time you're going to bring me to one of these places to set me up with someone?" Bulma's eyes wiggled encouragingly.

"You need a man whose material," Chi Chi mused. "Someone happy to put up with your soda pop swilling and weekend long pair of pajamas. That's why you're here, remember? Us older ladies, we're not 21 anymore. We gotta work to meet men now."

Bulma groaned.

"Goku left to go find your date. He'd taken a phone call or something before we got here. I bet they're waiting for us now," she reminded Bulma sweetly, pushing Bulma ahead of her in the crowd, and giving her a light tap on the behind, which Bulma swatted away with affectionate irritation. "Goku says he thinks you guys will really get along. The man is ambitious, well respected in the industry, rich," Chi Chi whispered alluringly, "and I'm sure good looking."

"Yeah, well if he's a Raditz or a Krillin, I'm out."

"Don't be like that," the black haired woman snapped, pushing her toward the bar, which bobbed in their sight between the mass of bodies. "This will be good for you. And Goku was adamant that you guys would really get along."

Finally the crowd broke, and Bulma saw Goku's characteristic thick tufts of chaotic hair (that Bulma had watched, giggling, as Chi Chi try to slick down with her spit more than once).

Raditz was smirking into his beer behind him, and, to Bulma's rapidly escalating dread, the same sharp tongued, well dressed nincompoop who'd run into her on the way out of the bathroom, who stood suavely against the bar, all perfectly contained savagery, listening to Nappa ramble with meager attention.

"Chi Chi! Bulma! I have someone I'd like you to meet!"

Goku was pulling Bulma to his side, grinning idiotically, if she did say so herself, as he gestured at the stranger- -"Bulma, Vegeta, meet your date tonight!"- -whose eyes met Bulma's with an equal amount of dismay.

* * *

Hi there! I was in the mood to read and write something that was purely fun. I don't expect this to be a-few-chapters-short, but the idea of drawing this out for dozens of chapters also fills me with dread. So we'll see where it goes.


	2. Chapter 2

**_Chapter 2_**

_Oh. My. God. _

"We've met," Bulma growled, as Goku looked back and forth between the two blind dates, waiting for the hands and pleasantries to extend.

The man huffed, rolling his eyes to the side dismissively.

"Oh, really?" Goku exclaimed, addressing Bulma. "Great! Well then, you know Vegeta is a partner at Bardock Vejita and Sons, right? He was the top administrative and civil law litigator in West City, until they made him partner. Now he just gets to lean back in his cushy office chair and boss us around from the other side of the glass." He sent Vegeta a wink that may as well have traveled a great distance just to hit the man's pout with a smack, and fall gracelessly onto the floor, ignored.

"I'm still just a measly paralegal," Goku admitted good-naturedly, giving a gracious smile to Chi Chi, who squeezed his arm.

The treacherous witch. She wasn't satisfied with running Bulma's life, no, she had to find someone to date below her own position of senior associate at _Baba and Korin_, where she had the pleasure of bossing around the large staff in the name of keeping the founder's pristine reputations. Eh, maybe she was being too hard on her best friend. Chi Chi only wanted the best for her. They just had opposite definitions of what was good for her.

"And Vegeta, this is Bulma. She owns B's Dubs in the West Bottoms. It's a Volkswagen repair shop, in the old manufacturing part of town!"

She had to applaud Goku's kindness. There was no trace of mockery in his introduction, only genuine, honest to goodness good will.

Vegeta, however, snorted loudly, rolling his eyes dramatically and sipping his scotch before turning his burning gaze elsewhere. "Delightful," he muttered dryly.

"We've been friends a long time," added Chi Chi, smile dripping with sweetness, in the hopes of luring in Bulma's potential husband, or whatever it was her crazy control freak of a friend was up to. Who was she kidding. If Chi Chi thought that this _thing_ could work out between her and _him_, she needed to rethink Chi Chi's loyalty. Bulma sent her a dramatic scowl that Chi Chi ignored.

Vegeta reciprocated her histrionics by giving Chi Chi a thoroughly dastardly, _'I see through you'_ smirk, an elegant eyebrow winging, which earned an almost comical frown from Chi Chi.

"Why don't we say hi to Paragus and Turles, Cheech, heh heh?" Goku suggested, already pulling Chi Chi away. "We've already ordered dinner for everyone, it should be here soon," Goku told them with a broad smile.

"Just order drinks and get to know each other!" Chi Chi trilled, her eyes nearly squeezing shut with the wide smile she sent them even as Goku twirled her away, waving over her shoulder.

To Bulma's irritation, Vegeta spoke as soon as they turned away, glancing down with repulsion at her watered down Pepsi.

"Soda? Really? What are you, fourteen?"

Bulma grit her teeth.

"Can I get you a refill?" A voice asked from over her shoulder, and she tried to unclench her jaw enough to smile politely at the bartender.

"A Long Island Iced Tea. In your _biggest_ glass," she replied pleasantly. Well, _almost_ pleasantly.

"Oh? So you've now graduated to drunken sorority girl? Good to see evidence right before my eyes that evolution is making leaps and bounds in procuring the best and the very brightest." He leaned his elbow on to the bar and smiled at her devilishly. His voice was smoothly arrogant, dipping into his raspy, lower registers only when he was saying something particularly hurtful.

She glared at the bar in front of her and tried really, really hard not to swipe and hiss at the bastard like an angry wild cat.

"I'm going to need more than this to deal with you," she explained as the bartender sat down her glass, "you stuffy, pretentious, tight assed-"

"Ah, I see your use of the English language is as meager as your 'profession'"-

Bulma shoved her face under his. "Don't you dare patronize me, not until you hit puberty, shorty!"

"Well I see you must have hit puberty recently, given the way your buttons are popping at the seams," he hissed in her face. "What, did you think you could fit into your skinny friend's clothes tonight? You over flatter yourself," he whispered, baring his teeth at her in a nasty smile.

"Ah, ha ha," Goku laughed awkwardly, loudly from behind them. "Seems like you guys are already hitting it off. Great. That's...great."

"No, no!" Chi Chi laughed fakely, waving her hand in the air as if all this were a joke between friends. "Bulma's just, like that, you know, she has...a dry sense of humor!"

"Vegeta's sense of humor is about as dry as my sexual dry patch," Nappa grumbled into his fourth scotch from beside them.

"Look, the server's here! He brought dinner! Sit down, sit down!" Chi Chi gestured at the table reserved beside them like a nervous mother.

As Bulma sat in her seat, she felt her dates suit coat brush her arm, and she jolted, looking up to see him sit next to her, fixing her with a testy glower. Then he smiled impishly. "Oh good, look's like the waiter brought my steak dry and overdone," he crooned, "_just like my date_."

Bulma returned his unnerving mien and then turned her nose up, cutting her steak gracefully. Or at least, trying to.

"What a gentleman you are," she crooned softly. "He brought my steak bloody. Just like I like my men," she whispered harshly, swiveling her head sharply to give him a heated, hateful glare.

"So why don't we get to know each other a little bit," Chi Chi offered, smoothing her skirt as she sat and then fixing them with a demure smile. "Vegeta no'Ouji, why don't you start? I'm sure Bulma would be interested in hearing how you got into managing the Freeman case."

Bulma looked up at him sharply. "The Freeman case, between Representative Freeman and Morgan Pressman?"

"Why, yes. I'm shocked to see that you are, indeed, literate."

Bulma, surprisingly, ignored the bait, appearing for the first time tonight concerned, countenance serious. "Of course I know about it. It's a case involving the gerrymandering of the neighborhood my business is in. If Congressman Freeman's very illegal manipulations are ignored, the levy passed for the neighborhood's renovation will fall through. Our rent and taxes will skyrocket, and all the good people who are self employed in my neighborhood will lose their source of income and their homes. It's a matter that impacts a lot of helpless people," she explained urgently.

For the first time that night, Vegeta regarded her with an interest that went beyond criticizing her. He cast a puzzled look at the little blue haired loud mouth from the corner of his eyes as the bite of steak delicately held by his fork hovered near his mouth. "Indeed." He bit off the steak with his teeth and prodded his summer squash with detached boredom, churning over his response. Finally, he shoved his fork through the veggies and his mouth twisted up in a smile. "But I'm heading the prosecution."

"What?!" Bulma screeched, loud enough to silence the tables around them.

Vegeta couldn't help but give a small smile as he popped the grilled squash in his mouth.

"Why on _Earth_ would you do that?" She hissed frenziedly, fixing him with an intense blue stare from under her fallen curls.

His eyebrows cocked, barely looking at her out of the corner of his eyes. "Why not?"

"Because you're using your power for _evil_! You're rooting for the bad guys. That's why!" She yelled sincerely, Chi Chi's eyes nearly popping out of her head at the scene her friend was making, as Goku regarded Bulma with befuddled concern. "What kind of lawyer _does that_?"

This time, both Chi Chi, Goku and Vegeta looked at her strangely.

Vegeta's eyes flicked over the other couple to gauge their reactions.

Had Goku set him up with a total idiot?

"Because that's my job," he said slowly, as if talking to a toddler. "I'm an attorney."

"Oh, fuck off, you geriatric overdressed indistinguishable twit," she sneered, as Chi Chi and Goku stared in horror and Vegeta's eyebrows fell into a glower that promised doom, his chiseled jaw tightening in offense. Bulma barely had the room to bask in the satisfaction from it, what with all the pure disgust she was feeling at the moment. For this _man_, for her _friends_. "There's a special place in Hell for Axe-cologne wearing, self interested attorneys like you."

"Goku," Vegeta snarled, his head snapping toward his co-worker. "Why in the _Hell_ did you set me up with this lunatic?"

"Ummmm," Goku stared at them, slack jawed.

Chi Chi's salad fork drooped in front of her parted mouth and was starting to lose some of its bits of cheese and bacon.

"Because my '_friend'_ here wanted me to fall in _love_ and _marry_ you you sick disgusting crusher of disadvantaged people's hopes and dreams," Bulma snarled. "This is probably the worst date you've ever set me up on, Cheech, and you have certainly put me through one after another. I trusted you." Chi Chi's face paled as Bulma thrust her napkin onto the table. "Well, I mean, I didn't really believed I'd like anyone you set me up with, but I at least trusted that I could peacefully ignore them and make you happy. And where the _Hell_ are the nachos?" Bulma slammed her hand on the table before standing up, wrenching her coat from the back of her chair. "Thank's a lot. It's been a real pleasure," she issued snidely, tugging on her coat backwards, before flipping it around with frustration.

"Great. Let's do this again sometime." Vegeta's sarcasm was evident.

"Ughhhhh," Bulma growled, before grabbing her tall glass of spiked iced tea and, to the shock of everyone at the surrounding tables, downed it in one go, throat bobbing rhythmically, breasts heaving slightly under the buttons of a stressed blouse. As the dregs of the alcohol were swallowed, she slammed the mug down on Vegeta's plate with a crash and strode to the door. She wasn't at all trying to be overly dramatic. Oh no, she was simply _furious_.

"Bulma-" she heard Chi Chi call in the unsettling quiet of the restaurant.

Bulma swiveled, threw her arms up in the air and walked the rest of the way to the door backwards on wobbly heels.

"No," she announced. "I'm out. PEACE." She backed into a table, spilling some guest's wine.

"What the hell, lady-"

"Fuck you," Bulma sniped, pointing at the indignant, sharp dressed man whose date, certainly half his age, stared at her incredulously under thick makeup. "I'm a mechanic."

And that's when Bulma turned and walked out the door.

"That was the fire exit," Chi Chi said weakly. "I tried to tell her."

Chi Chi and Goku's eyes slid sideways toward Vegeta.

He began shaking his head vigorously. "Oh, no," he protested, "no way. I am not going out there. I look forward to never speaking to that tragedy again."

"You're the one who made this mess," Chi Chi accused him, raising her voice. "You should be the one to clean it up!"

"She's the crazy one. And...and you-" He pointed at Goku and then Chi Chi, really not appreciating being given responsibility of this. "You're the ones who set this disaster up."

At Chi Chi's hard, flat stare, Vegeta sighed sulkily, scowling. Not even he was immune to Chi Chi's talents.

"Fine," he barked, standing. "But I want nothing else to do with the nutcase. And after this, I'm going home, and you'll pay for this by paying for these wretched dinners."

He slammed the chair into the table, turning to follow her path of destruction towards the fire exit and glowering at anyone who dared to look at him.

Chi Chi and Goku watched the man stride across and open the door roughly before the door closed slowly behind him.

"Goku," Chi Chi intoned softly, "I don't know if this is your worst or best idea."

The couple gave each other harried stares.

####

Vegeta let out a gravelly sigh as the cold air hit him like a wall and the door shut behind him. A flash of blue caught his eye, and he turned to his left, where, to his exasperation, the nutty woman was climbing on to the fire escape and slowly making her way down. He found himself striding towards her, a sour expression marking his face. "What the hell are you doing?"

Bulma jumped when she heard him and stopped her descent to look up. "I'm getting out of here," she replied defensively.

"And you couldn't use the front door?"

"Um, the door locks from the outside," she explained sheepishly.

Vegeta went rigid with alarm.

"I tried to get back in when I realized this was the wrong door," she explained in an even smaller voice.

Vegeta whipped around to stare at the innocuous wooden door. His eyes bulged. Now he was stuck out on this terrace? With her?!

"You've got to be kidding me. What a _farce_," he snarled.

"Why are you out here anyway? It's not like I asked you to come out here," she snapped, brows furrowing, fists clenching on the ladder.

"I don't _want_ to be here," he retorted petulantly, before looking off to the side self consciously.

She smirked. Chi Chi had gotten to him. Seemed he wasn't as immovable as he liked to appear. "Want a little cheese with that whine?"

His attention snapped back onto her.

"I'm not the one stuck out on the third floor fire escape ladder in the middle of January in heels." This time he grinned predatorily.

Her eyes narrowed. "Now I remember why I left." As if to prove her point, she started her way back down with a firm stomp...only for the fire escape steps underneath her to give way and tumble to the ground below her. Bulma let out a frightened shriek and gripped the cold metal for dear life.

"Someone should really have tightened those fucking bolts!" She screamed, legs kicking in the air.

Vegeta jerked his hand out to her.

"I'll fall!" She wailed, eyes watering in the frigid wind.

"You'll fall anyway." His face was screwed with both concern and a new, amused exasperation.

She swung her legs under her, her knees finding purchase against the very last step before it just gave way to empty space. "You're an asshole! Why would I trust you? You'll probably let me go!" The metal grating was biting into her knees, the ladder swaying slightly in the breeze. Vegeta's eyes rolled upwards and he sneered, but not unattractively. "Just give me your hand you fatalistic, poor excuse for a dramatic exit giving nutjob!"

Bulma's arm shot out and she angrily slipped her hand into his and gripped tightly. "I hate you," she growled as he pulled her up, as she, for the moment, relied on his strength and common decency to save her from the thirty foot fall. He pulled her up with surprising ease, and she helped him push herself the rest of the way before falling against him and letting out a breath, craning her neck upwards to look into his eyes. _He's not that short,_ her stupid, terrified brain thought absently.

"Thanks," she murmured, before he loosed his grip on her, and she tucked her hair behind her ears as it whipped her face. She caught the faint scent of his laundry detergent and deodorant, an agreeable blend of fresh cotton and the gunpowder musk of a saloon.

"You're pathetic," he commented dryly.

Her expression grew stormy. "And you," she seethed, poking him in the shoulder, surprisingly firm under her finger, "you are much more human than I anticipated. My gratitude remains," she said cooly, before stepping away and crossing her arms over her chest. "How are we going to get back inside? No one can hear us knock."

"Woman, you are too much trouble," he found himself sighing, but not without a small amount of begrudging humor.

"I have a name," she huffed.

"What, Totally Foolish? Entirely Mental? Thoroughly Cracked?"

She let out a little frustrated shriek and stomped to the other side of the terrace as far away from him as she could manage on the wide walkway that must have held tables in the summer, glancing back at him malevolently before leaning her butt against the railing and slipping her heels off one by one. The pavement was shockingly cold against her hosed feet, and as Vegeta's face screwed with irritated puzzlement, Bulma hurled the shoes off the balcony, one by one.

"Hey, you!" She hollered down. Vegeta grew a look of horror as the small blue haired woman leaned forward over the rail and hollered at passersby. "Hey! We need help! We're stuck up here!" In an effort to be heard, the woman leaned her body even further out over the railing, and Vegeta moved to grab her by her arm and jerk her back upright.

"Are you insane?" He roared.

"I'm strategizing! It's more than you can say, just standing there!"

"Look!" He pointed at the corner of the terrace, where another fire escape ladder hung inconspicuously.

"Woohoo!" Bulma pumped her fist excitedly and shuffled over to the ladder sans shoes. "Chi Chi's going to kill me when she learns her designer shoes are kaput," she muttered.

"I'll go first," Vegeta volunteered with irritation.

"Is that how the adage goes? Gentlemen first?" Bulma remarked wryly.

"I figure if you go first, the chances of you hurting yourself are off the charts. I'm just mitigating my chances of being slapped with a lawsuit. And that way, I can see your face when I reach out to catch you and retract my arm back," he smiled twistedly, "and say _'Sike.'_" He leered sharkishly.

"Just go already," she ordered, shooing him towards the ladder. As he stepped onto the ladder a lot more gracefully than she had, she followed, frowning. "And you better not try to peek up my skirt."

He stopped to look up at her with hot contempt.

"Although I don't know how that's possible; I can barely walk in it."

The frigid wind ruffled his upwards spiking hair as he regarded her darkly. "Not interested," he hissed.

"Well me either," she sniffed, watching him advance down the ladder until there was enough room for her to join him.

The two carefully made their way down the rickety ladder against the cranberry night sky, a few raindrops splatting against their hands and cheeks. "My hands are getting numb," Bulma whined, before the heel of her foot hit something soft and warm.

"Woman!" She heard him snap from below, and she looked down as Vegeta swatted her foot away from his shoulder. "Hold on!"

"What's the hold up?" She complained, staring at the top of his head as he angled his body to look down. They were about to the second floor now, their ladder hanging from a wall that adjoined another terrace, this one dark and abandoned just below them.

She had the strangest urge to touch his hair. Delicately, she reached out with her toes and ran them over the top fringes of his hair, regretting the hose that stood between her bare feet and his soft, thick hair. He swatted her foot away. She smiled.

"Will you stop just for a minute?" He was really focused on something.

"What are you-?"

"Oh shit," she heard him say from below her.

"What?" She barely had time to ask before he was scrambling back up. "What's going on?" She squeaked as he climbed up behind her, pressing his chest against her back, coming to stand on the stair just underneath her.

"There's a drug deal going on down there. What kind of neighborhood did you bring me to," he griped, looking harried.

Her mouth parted into a slow, twisted smile as she regarded him from over her shoulder, the poor guy trying his hardest to hang on to the ladder and keep his distance from her. A few tumbling chuckles escaped her. "Oh, you sad, naive, privileged rich kid. It's probably just some kid buying this week's weed-"

Two gun shots rang out, buffering the brick walls and echoing fiercely around them, causing a ringing in their ears as they stared at each other in the pulsing light of gun fire with alarm. There was shouting and scuffling from below them. Their hearts hammered in their chest. They stood rigidly against one another as the sound of men arguing preceded the slam of doors and the sound of pounding footsteps before the ladder trembled and clanged with the weight of another person below them. Vegeta and Bulma's eyes never left the other's as they felt the person below them descend quickly down the ladder, waiting for him to look up, to spot them. But before they knew it, the ladder clattered and shook as the person jumped off at the bottom and sprinted across the street. There was more gunfire across the street, it sounded like, as the man disappeared into the shadows between buildings, and then the wail of sirens in the distance.

Bulma watched the shadows across the street with wide eyes, clenching the ladder, but the sirens seemed to wake Vegeta from the spell of terror. He scrambled down the ladder, leaving Bulma to gape after him.

"What-"

"Hurry up before the cops get here! I'm not getting my license revoked because you're an idiot."

Bulma's eyebrows shot upwards and she didn't ask anymore questions, climbing after him quickly. The descent was much easier without heels as both the sirens and the rain opened upon them. She felt the ladder shake and lighten as Vegeta jumped off the last few feet, and she hopped down after him, landing jarringly upright and with an unflattering, "Ooph."

He pivoted, trying to locate the front door of the building that housed the restaurant, but another shot was fired, this one ricocheting off something close enough to create sparks against the brick wall beside them.

Bulma squealed before he tugged her in the opposite direction, deeper into the alley. They raced through the dark, oxfords and feet slapping against the pavement as the sky opened up a deluge and blue and red lights finally coursed through the alley behind them, growing dimmer as Bulma and Vegeta came out the other side of the alley, right into the middle of a busy street. A few cars slammed on their brakes and laid on their horns, and they flinched, before Bulma snatched his hand, pulling him across the rest of the street. "C'mon!" She threw her arms over her head to protect against the rain and raced forward down the city sidewalk, looking back every few seconds to make sure the stubborn man was following.

He took long strides behind her, too prideful to run, his white tailored shirt damp and translucent against his skin. She hopped up the steps of a stoop and searched frantically in her coat pocket for her keys, feeling his presence finally behind her, his chest brushing her back as he tried to get out of the rain and under the enclave. Just as she was getting seriously impatient, the old knob turned and they spilled inside the dark foyer of the renovated apartment complex, Vegeta shutting the door firmly behind them as soon as they cleared the entryway.

They both thrust their fingers into the blinds of the nearest window and peeked outside. No cops or criminals lingered behind, only a curtain of rain that looked as if it were melting the street lights with its weight.

The blinds snapped closed as they both let out a relieved breath and looked at one another. Vegeta's long thick hair lay flattened in thick tufts against his head, and Bulma's own curly hair was already starting its frizzy rebellion.

She was the first to let out a chuckle, and Vegeta smirked at her, letting out a delicate, disbelieving snort.

"Come on," she ordered, still smiling, walking towards the elevator, the gold doors opening benevolently for them as they neared. An older gentleman exited, and the sight of him broke the spell between them as they shuffled awkwardly into the elevator. Bulma pressed button '4' and rung out her long hair, water splatting against the elevator carpet. He cast her a scathing look, and she rolled her eyes at him.

"Can you possibly be even more uptight?" She complained.

"Why are you such a barbarian?" He snapped back. "Has no one taught you manners?"

She rested her hands on her hips as she watched the elevator numbers slowly climb.

"Why would Goku even like you," she mused.

"Perhaps he recognizes a first class catch when he sees it." He smiled at her venomously, and she huffed.

She couldn't believe it, but she was becoming used to his snide commentating. It was losing its power to infuriate her; instead, she was beginning to view it as a unique game between them.

"That explains why he paired you up with me then." She smiled sweetly. "Chi Chi has been trying for almost two years now to find my equal."

"Two years and still no match?" He tucked his hands into his wet suit jacket and smiled down at her. "It sounds to me like you're a lost cause," he suggested silkily.

The elevator came to a stop jerkily and the old doors opened with a hard woosh, and Vegeta stepped out, smirking over his shoulder at her as she tried to come up with someway to explain how it wasn't a personal failing that she didn't have a man in her life. Right? Or was it?

She stepped out of the elevator, her mouth gaping like a fish, and finally she huffed, sauntering past him with as much dignity as she could muster before freeing the keys from her pocket and sliding the key into her door.

Time enough to tilt his head to to the side and wring out his own hair. He shook his head of the rest of the moisture and looked up to see the woman smiling back at him, entertained, and he swiftly caught up to her, hiding a faint blush with a glower.

She wouldn't let it go. "You know," she mused, and he cut her a look that just dared her to go there.

She did. "Even after a hard rain, it still stands up. How much hairspray do you go through a week, honestly?"

A growl recoiled from his chest, and for an instant, he lost his self control, waving his hands wildly around his head. "It just does this, okay?!"

She let out the first sincere laugh she'd had all night and opened the door, flicking on the light and stepping in. She shut the door lightly after he stomped through the doorway, and he took in the modern, tidy apartment with barely concealed surprise. He was expecting more...cars on cinder blocks.

"Let me get you a towel and an umbrella. I think Goku might have some clothes here that you could borrow. But that's just between me and you." Her voice weakened as she trailed into a bedroom at one end of the spacious front room. "Chi Chi's father is still a devout Catholic, so as far as he knows, Chi Chi and Goku have only gotten as far as holding hands."

She strode back out with a pile of clothes and two oversized towels against her chest, setting them on the couch. "I could use a drink. I really wasn't expecting to be in the middle of a gun fight tonight. You?"

"Yeah, what is this, Compton?" He shrugged out of his wet suit jacket, tugging the water-heavy sleeves off each arm.

"This is a very nice neighborhood," she protested from the kitchen, where, dripping onto the tile, she reached up on her tippy toes and grabbed two glasses from the shelf of a cupboard. She uncorked an extra large bottle of premium vodka and poured them generously. "I'm pretty sure the only reason we live here is because Chi Chi was convinced it was the only place worthy of a woman as dignified as her." Bulma smiled under her breath.

"Social climber," she heard Vegeta say snarkily from the living room.

"You know, if she wasn't already spoken for, I'd say that Chi Chi was more your type of woman." She walked into the living room carrying both their drinks and the bottle squished between her breast and her forearm, swallowing as she saw him toss his tie on the couch, his tailored shirt unbuttoned at the neck, the cut of his waist tapering into his pants surprisingly dashing. She turned her gaze quickly toward the coffee table, where she sat the drinks, hiding a blush that his deep brown eyes caught. He watched her down her drink and then reach her hand up her skirt, yanking the tops of her thigh hi's down.

"What kind of woman do you think I like?" He asked playfully, watching her tug the remaining hose off her dirty feet, correcting his lingering gaze with a little frown as he glimpsed her muscular thighs.

"I'm just saying that both you and Chi Chi are...arrogant and hard to please," she finished with difficulty.

"That woman is _not_ my type."

"Funny, that's how I feel about you." She smiled with barely contained glee at her jab.

He looked at her flatly before falling to the couch with a huff, giving the glasses a glance, his tailored trousers rising just enough over his ankles for her to note his pristine leather shoes.

"You are not my type in the slightest," he huffed, his nose in the air, before rolling his head against the couch to look at her with a smirk. "I like my women _way_ less loud. Preferably with a commitment that only lasts as long as the morning. Now give me that glass."

She couldn't help but smile at him, tucking her legs under her butt as she plopped beside him on the couch, their wet clothes temporarily forgotten.

She handed him his drink, pouring herself another as he downed his shot before she immediately refilled him.

"Let me guess. You like fancy women." He raised his eyebrow at her, but she was already feeling the warmth of the vodka, reigniting the remnants of the buzz from the Long Island that evaporated with the scare on the fire escape. "Women with expensive jewelry and designer handbags and stuff. Women that flatter you."

He shrugged. "I like a woman that takes care of herself."

"Hey, I take care of myself. I shaved for the first time in two months for this date."

She smiled into her glass as he nearly choked on his second drink.

"What you're trying to say is that the women you're into are gold diggers," she continued.

"I don't allow women close enough to touch my money." He held out his glass demandingly for a refill, and she refilled it with a moue.

"You're a dick," she commented dryly.

He gave her a warm smirk, before gulping down his third shot. He leaned forward and placed the glass on the glass coffee table, the hard muscles in his side flexing under his damp shirt, and he sat back, tucking his hands under his head casually. "And you're a nutcase."

"I'd rather be a nutcase than some woman pining for rich men's attention every night," she said seriously, refilling her own glass as he gazed at her out of the corner of his eyes. "What is this, slouching?" She gestured at his nearly impeccable posture. "You never fail to surprise me, rich kid." She stood up and made her way back into the kitchen.

He smirked. "The quality of this vodka and class of your decor has me quite surprised," he called out.

"Don't be. It's all Chi Chi's doing. If you think this is nice, you should see my room. Although the vodka is mine. Cheech is more of a strawberry daiquiri kind of gal." Bulma made a face of distaste as she peered inside the fridge, the chilly air reminding her that she needed to get out of her wet clothes. "Just because I'm glue collar doesn't mean I can't have good taste."

"You certainly had me fooled." He smiled broadly, canines glinting, the only indication he was feeling relaxed. Bulma missed it, her head in the fridge.

"Don't you get enough of arguing while you're at work?"

"What can I say, it's my bread and butter."

She snorted next to the milk jug, then froze as she felt him at her back.

"What you got in there?" He breathed behind her. She looked over her shoulder slowly to see him peering into the fridge.

She stifled a laugh. "Are you hungry? Just say so."

"What are you going to cook me?" He grinned impishly at her, and she noticed he was gripping the bottle of vodka, a significant portion of it gone.

"I'm not cooking you anything," she replied incredulously, making sure to send him a critical look after glancing at his trophy hold on the alcohol. "I don't cook. I can hardly pour a bowl of cereal."

"Just like you can barely locate an exit?"

Her mouth parted, her brows drawing together. "Not all of us are as perfect as you, your highness."

"That I am," he smiled down at her heatedly, his proximity to her making her skin prickle. Or maybe it was the standing in front of the fridge bit.

"I can think of a few things you could improve on," she retorted, turning into him. _Cool us off, fridge._

"Like what?"

The liquor was definitely doing its job, because he was much more tolerable when liquored up. When she was liquored up. Whatever.

"You're actually kind of cute," she said, before clapping her hand over her mouth. "I didn't mean that."

He pried her hand from her mouth delicately, before his smug, upwards curving smile pressed, warm and rich, against the corner of her mouth.

"I think you did," she felt him say against her skin.

"Are you going to cook me something?" She squeaked.

His hand slid hot and inviting over her jaw, and he angled her face up to his. "What are you hungry for?"

"Pancakes. Tacos. Green beans. I don't know do you like to cook?" She tittered nervously, trying to stop whatever it was between them that she knew was sliding swiftly out of her hands.

"I love to cook," he admitted huskily, before kissing her softly on the mouth. "I find it hard to back down from a challenge." He looked up at her from his eyelashes, and she was struck by the genuine heat there and the pool of warmth it generated in her belly.

"Where's your smart mouth now," he whispered into her parted mouth.

"I'll show you smart mouth," she growled, before grabbing the collar of his shirt and pressing her lips to his for a long moment. "Why aren't you leaving yet," she chided, testing his consent by running her palm over his jaw down his strong neck, where his shirt gaped open. She fingered the first button, and it slid out of its coop, revealing the beginning of a hard chest underneath.

"I'd rather stay," he murmured assuredly.

* * *

A/N: I've gotten a few comments that this reminds readers of _Vigilantes_, what with the attorneys and all, and that's okay! I heart that fic. But I want to keep each fic's personalities distinct, too. Just so it's clear: In this fic, Vegeta is a perfectionist. He's single minded, ambitious, and neurotic about his job; he's fastidious; and he's very serious about that which he can most control: how he appears to people, and the kind of control that gives him. That's the side of Vegeta I wanted to explore in this fic-the more princely one, rather than the angsty, violent one. So he's kind of still in character, I hope. In _Vigilantes_, he is more laid back and not so snotty. Bulma, on the other hand, while being a fashion challenged smarty pants just like her _Vigilantes_ counterpart, is also much more challenged by real life, and, you know, less angsty. And, I suppose, not as much of an intellectual so much as a gear head. The only thing she's really good at is losing herself in her interests, like Doritos and tv crime dramas, and she's lucky that her other interests include building stuff and that that kind of work makes a little bit of money. I wanted to focus on her more disorganized, distracted, dreamy nature that we see more often in Dragonball. This fic is just for fun though, without any of the introspection and deliberate character analysis that comes with a serious fic. Pretty much the antithesis of _Reciprocity_. So the style's going to be more relaxed, and that's deliberate. K? K! Also, it needs to be said that I know next to nothing about the world of law and litigation. The closest I've got is a parking ticket, oh, and a few friends who've considered going to law school. Don't we all have those friends? So I'm just talking out of my legal ass here. I have a 1973 VW Bug and know my way around an air cooled engine, so that shit's for real tho. K? K!


	3. Chapter 3

Author's Note: I'd just like to remind everyone that this is rated N for Nooky, and that it is super redundant to have to have a disclaimer on a website entitled "fanfiction," but I'm overdue for one so that no one calls out the cavalry.

* * *

__Hookups and Hangups:Chapter 3__

It was easy to lose herself in the kiss because ohmygawd, when had she last kissed a man? Last kissed a man as first rate at kissing as this? He was certainly...experienced...and yet, there was no hint of following a familiar outline here. His kiss was aggressive, molten, cinders and smoke and maybe even some kind of laser light show going on behind him, or at least, it was deserving of it. He smelled like clean laundry and gun smoke and, curiously, hard work, his lapels crisp in her hands, and she had a short moment to wonder how in the hell this had happened to her. The milk jug wedged uncomfortably against her butt cheek and she heard the echoes of her own accusations directed at Chi Chi just an hour ago for setting her up with this man, when she had been working so hard to just remain merrily single.

And he was definitely all man, pressed up against the fridge as she was by him, milk jug sticking her in the butt and feeling altogether desirable under this man's mouth, his hands cupping her face. She certainly wasn't going to insert logic into this situation and risk popping it like a bubble. His warm hands held her face in a parody of affection as his mouth plundered hers ruthlessly, and as it began its unhurried descent down the curve of her neck, she knew with gut-deep certainty that she was going to let this man undress her tonight. She was going to allow him to get between her recently shaved legs in a dance unfamiliar to her-but maybe not in her bed, maybe just on the couch like teenagers, because she didn't want to scare him away with the state of emergency her room was (always) in right now.

Vegeta's mouth was clean, his kiss smooth as water over stone, but electrifying, playing games with her own as his tongue warred against hers competitively, the tasteless ghost of vodka between them. How had she not known it was a bad idea to open up a liquor bottle? It was making her consider crazy possibilities!

His fingers rested lightly against her jaw, and there was no mistaking that this man knew how to kiss. In fact, took great pride in it probably. Her own hands crept up his chest and competently unbuttoned his shirt at the neckline, and she just kind of watched with bewilderment, shrinking away from these hands she just did not recognize anymore! Who was this smoky eyed, husky voiced vixen that his desire had transformed her into, whose next move no doubt was to rip her own clothes off to reveal a leopard print bustier and garter, before crooking her finger with a cat-eyed wink? She pressed her palm against Vegeta's hard chest and let out a little sigh through her nose as he tilted her head for better access. The man was magic, and she was his fool. It'd been too long, her body seethed. It was dragging her places she normally wouldn't venture. Her heart was a vagabond, a wanderer, and it took her places that made other people, Chi Chi namely, cringe. But even she knew that sometimes it needed locked up and shut up.

And with the same mysterious speed that this man had gone from a 'No Way' in her little imaginary book of people she'd sleep with to a 'PLEASE I'M BEGGING YOU TO,' the balmy heat between them evaporated as quickly as it had set upon them.

Regretfully- -thankfully- -it was as Bulma touched the back of his neck tentatively, running her fingers over the hair there that jut stubbornly upwards, and he shivered, disengaging from their kiss slowly, stealing her breath as he fixed her with his own personal mixture of an icily heated gaze, and she felt his fingers at her skirt zipper, her desire heavy, sitting on her chest...

When his hard thigh began vibrating against her own:

the unmistakable, annoying pulse of a cellphone.

And, to her utter astonishment, he reached into his pocket and cooly answered it, turning away from her abruptly to talk about...stocks and shares- -Bulma's eyebrows twisted upwards- -with his back to her, gesturing for privacy. At- -Bulma gaped at the digital clock on the stove- -a quarter to midnight on a Saturday night. She stood in the doorway of the open fridge, blinking like an idiot.

To her growing horror, Vegeta crisply delivered his advice on the price of letterhead as Bulma stared incredulously.

"Ohmygod, what am I doing," she mumbled to herself, before glancing at the fridge with confusion, her eyes wandering to the bottle of vodka on the counter he had placed beside them. Half gone.

She looked up at him, his broad shoulders and slender, compact waist, his pants handsomely skimming his backside as though he'd come straight from a GQ photo shoot, and as he barked at whoever was on the other line about setting up an overflow account with 12% interest

Bulma

Became

Furious.

Vegeta slapped his phone shut, just as Bulma slammed shut the fridge door with a rattling clang. Remembering where he was, he turned around-to come face to face with Bulma's wrathful face.

"Get out," she issued harshly.

Vegeta gave a slight shake of his head as though he hadn't understood. "Excuse me?"

"Tell me though, before you go," she spit, chomping on the words like a bit, "how much of this do you need to entertain the idea of kissing me?" She held up the vodka.

"You weren't complaining a minute ago," he protested, features screwing with defensive anger, his smooth voice dragging over gravel as he became angered.

"I honestly didn't think that you would choose to answer a business call in the middle of an intimate moment on a Saturday night!" She threw her arms up in the air vehemently.

"Oh, I see here."

His face grew stormy as his voice became venomous, and he coiled up, pointing his finger at her. "You think there's more to this than there really is." He laughed horribly. Bulma's heart crumpled up a little, her fury withering.

He continued, really on a roll now. "This means nothing to me. That call from my accountant was far more important to me than kissing some silly woman...even if we _were_ just discussing card stock." He smirked down at her, surely feeling every inch a real conquering hero.

He met her stare confrontationally, her vivid blue eyes torn between frustration and pain, her hair spilling over her shoulders, her pale collarbones jutting out from her opened shirt, and for a brief moment, he regretted what he'd said, entertained smoothing it over so he could put his mouth on her and feel her moan throatily against him. He just couldn't take it! He couldn't stand it when people patronized him. He hadn't worked, slaved, his entire adult life to be in the position he was to listen to some insubordinate woman talk back to him. She was so unmitigatedly crass. He deserved respect, damnet.

"You are less to me than dirt on my shoe," he sneered, twisting the knife as he bit down on his own strange, flickering sense of disappointment with himself. Did she want to play with the big boys? Then she was subject to the same treatment he gave them. _No one_ dictated what he could and couldn't do.

"Do you really know what I want from you?" She answered neutrally, carefully. He watched her intensely as she stood rigidly before him, before turning to stride to the front door, opening it in a clear indication that she expected him to leave. He narrowed his eyes at her and peered down his nose before stiffly walking towards her and the door.

He jumped when she put her hand on his sleeve, and they stared at each other, his jaw tight.

His expression was savagely controlled, his proximity grating on her, his deep brown eyes staring at her daringly from an impossibly handsome face. And for just a moment, she watched a flicker of unease...followed by hope?...drift across his features.

Stupidly, a savage urge to kiss him goodbye filled her...and she impetuously, dumbly let it lead her to his mouth. She couldn't help wanting to taste it, again and maybe again, if she could help it.

She barely had the room to be more shocked with herself when, after a moment, his mouth opened for hers, and with a clash, he swept his tongue deeply into her mouth, stubbornly plundering it even in the face of their dismissal of the other.

_This is unhealthy! This is unhealthy!_ Some part of her squealed in the far parts of her mind.

Stupidly, strangely, impossibly, there was a part of her that couldn't stand to see him go, and it was that insane impulsive part of her that pressed herself closer to him even as **'danger danger'** flashed red through her mind. She was playing with fire, and at any moment he would burst into flames and consume her with a fine tuned understanding of the weapons of emotional and verbal abuse.

He certainly didn't deserve it, her kissing him like this, but in light of all of it, the more defiant she became, and she dispatched any lingering protests by yanking on his collar and burying her fingers into the hair at the back of his neck to deepen the kiss.

He rolled her out of the doorway smoothly, and with a slight 'oomph,' he pressed her back up against the wall and scoured her mouth, quietly reaching out and closing her front door.

Her body, wracked with rebellious desire, ignited with agreement, and she undid the buttons quickly on his shirt as they kissed the other frantically. He grabbed at her hand as his shirt gaped open with her progress, pressing it against the wall and sending her a heated, smoky promise of devourment from beneath his lashes. He had strong, neat eyebrows, and they dipped gracefully as his other hand appeared and lightly freed one of her buttons from its hole. "I want your skin in my mouth," he confided, before feeling a warring alarm in his belly at the outburst. He hadn't intended to say that; it was much more of a confession that it was dirty talk. Bulma's eyes rolled upwards as his mouth trailed along her collar, and a jolt of jagged heat rooted in her core and sent its clawed fire up into her belly, along her chest, and into her fingertips.

"I want you," she moaned, and despite her vulnerability at the admission it was impossible to contain. Had it just been so long? She felt as though she were in the path of a tidal wave of rabid need, on the verge of a primal urge to submit herself to him in otherwise really embarrassing ways.

"What am I to you?" He growled from beneath her as his tongue licked up her throat, his fingers on her pulse at her wrist, still held firmly against the wall.

"What?" She breathed, confused, as his other hand skimmed her hip and, to her depraved thrill, ran along the curve of her ass and along her thighs.

"What were you going to say? When I was about to leave?" His rough but emotional voice drew her eyes open with its penetrative need and she was relieved and curious to see that he looked as far gone as she.

Her lids lowered as she considered what to say.

"That you aren't even a blip in my radar" she finished, setting her jaw firmly, warningly.

He knocked her bare foot to the side with his own and planted his knee between hers.

The sudden heat of his thigh against her sent heat into her cheeks, and she looked up at him with vulnerability, as he gazed down at her.

And set his mouth against hers savagely.

"I don't know why I want you," she spoke into his mouth frantically. "You drive me crazy. All I ask is that you don't bitch about the chocolate chip cookie crumbs in my bed."

And to his bafflement, he replied silkily, "Good. You've laid out the red carpet for me." He tugged at the underwear at her hip. "Now I won't have to get out of bed for my after-sex snack."

She laughed, this carousing, sibilant chime that sent something young inside him burbling to the surface, and then began tugging him to the bedroom by the front of his pants. "Better rethink that buddy," she laughed, and this unfamiliar excitement careened through him. "I don't share my chocolate chip cookies."

He stopped her in the hallway, pinning her against the wall to strip her of her bra and rub his hard length against her.

"Nobody denies me chocolate chip cookies," he whispered into her ear before tearing his shirt off.

* * *

He blinked up at an unfamiliar ceiling.

He sat up abruptly, and looked first thing at the bedroom door. Vegeta jumped up and jabbed the lock in, and spun around to regard what he knew with increasing anxiety awaited him.

The late morning sunlight was bright through the sheer curtains, and he squinted against it as he took in the messy blue mane of curls, the pale arm thrown over the pillow, with grim acknowledgment. The rest of her was wrapped up in a cocoon of blankets, thick enough that she'd probably survive a pretty steep fall, her legs sprawled out behind her and her body nearly sideways on the bed. She hadn't budged since he got up. That explained the crook in his back.

He heard voices from the other side of the door from the kitchen. He must have woke up when he sensed someone enter the apartment.

"What a mess," came the muffled, disdainful voice of Goku's girlfriend. "What on Earth did she do, come home and get trashed and have a tantrum?"

"Do you want me to sweep up?" He heard Goku ask good naturedly.

The harpy sighed. "Yes, please. Ugh, what a mess. No matter how hard I try I cannot get that girl to grow up."

Vegeta snorted.

He glanced at the clock on the night stand. It was nearly noon. He began to feel very self conscious with Goku and Chi Chi on the other side of the door and with..._her_ just a few feet away. He plodded to the bed, and looked around.

He filled with dread.

Where the hell were his clothes?

_Bulma's breath against his mouth, her hands running down his sweaty chest and gripping his smooth face as they kissed, listing backwards until her back hit the bedroom door. His hands palmed her breasts, and he wrapped her leg around his hip, grinding against her as he yanked her shirt from her arms. _

"_Ah!" She cried. "This is Chi Chi's. Weren't you satisfied ripping the buttons off your own shirt?"_

"_No," he admitted darkly._

He blushed unnaturally, remembering. Well, that explained where his clothes were-flung around from here to the front door. He noticed her panties were thrown onto her desk, lying limply on top of a stack of aged VW service manuals. Her bra hung over the lamp shade. He couldn't remember how either of them had got there.

"Where the hell are my clothes?" He grit.

"Bulma?" Chi Chi yelled, stamping down the hall before banging on the door. "Are you in there?"

"Go away," came Bulma's groggy, muffled voice, her arm snaking out and chucking the nearest item at the bedroom door without even looking at it, which bounced off the door next to him with a squeak.

A cat toy.

As if summoned, a chubby black cat raced out from under the bed and leapt on the toy, before rolling onto its back clumsily, trying to juggle the toy in its round paws.

The cat finally seemed to notice him, and turned its gold eyes on him.

Vegeta cupped himself instinctively.

He looked up at Bulma helplessly, but she had returned to the way he'd found her, buried securely under a dozen blankets.

Where the _fuck_ were his clothes?

_Her slick hips bucking against his, sweat pooling in her naval as she groaned his name..._

He ran his hand through his hair in wild frustration.

_...Sweeping his arm across the table and heaving her up onto the desk top before pulling his undershirt from the waist of his pants and dropping his trousers..._

"_I'm confused," she panted as his lips traced up her thighs, which yawned open for him. "Why do you...like me..."_

_He pressed himself against her and her eyes widened. It suddenly because very clear how interested in her he was._

_He leaned over her, staring at her intensely. "Shut up," he said, before sinking to his knees and burying his face between her legs with such fevered intent that any fear that he was toying with her flew right out of her empty head-_

Goku's clothes! They were in the living room, disregarded on the couch cushions. Damnet. With awkward apprehension, he moved to her dresser, where he quietly upended her drawers, poking around for something unisex he could put on to escape.

_The curl of her lip as she ground against him, her arms wrapped tight around his neck as she urged him harder..._

He pulled the sweats over his legs, leg hair catching on the gray terry cloth before shrugging on an extra large blue hoodie.

He heard the tinkle of glass falling into the wastebasket.

The vodka. He vaguely remembered shoving it off the countertop with a tremor as she surprised him at the fridge with her warm mouth on his member, when he went looking for some bottled water after their first round.

The second time he'd tossed her onto the couch and buried himself into her from the side of the couch.

He grimaced.

No more vodka. Never again.

"It smells like a drunk in here," he heard Chi Chi complain.

"Give her a break," Goku encouraged her gently. "Everyone needs to let off a little steam sometimes."

"I don't feel the need to make a scene at a nice restaurant and get trashed and take it out on my best friends home decor," Chi Chi grumbled.

"Look, I've got to run, Cheech. I've got a game at noon." There was a pause, the smack of a light kiss. "Why don't you go in there and talk to her? Tell her how you feel, but hear how she's feeling too? Walk a mile in her shoes, you know?"

"Thanks, Goku," he heard the woman murmur begrudgingly before giggling. "Stop, you're messing up my hair."

He had to get out of here!

Vegeta glanced frantically around the room, before peeking out the window sheers that he absently noted were little boy's draperies, complete with race cars and rocket ships. He had to get out of here _now_.

"Cheech, I really have to go. I'm starving, and I want to eat before the game," Goku whined flirtatiously, and Vegeta rolled his eyes. He really didn't want to know what Son Goku's bedroom voice sounded like.

"Come on, I'll walk you down," his woman said playfully, and as Vegeta's heart leapt in his chest hopefully, he heard the front door click shut, followed by a thick silence.

Vegeta could hardly move fast enough. He stuffed his bare feet in his shoes and yanked open Bulma's door without sparing the burrito of blankets a passing glance. He then sprinted out to the living room, where he immediately recognized his shirt stuffed between the fridge and the stainless steel microwave. He snatched it and balled it up and shoved it between his arm and side, and then scurried to the hallway and grabbed the pants that had been eagerly discarded outside her bedroom door. Giving the living room a cursory glance, and having his necessary apparel accounted for, Vegeta sidled up to the front door and listened for noise on the other side. Nothing. Slowly, he turned the knob, waited a second, and then peeked out. The hall was silent and empty. Vegeta rushed out, slamming the door behind him, twisted around in the hall a few times on his hunt for the fire escape, and shot down the dark stairs with unexamined anxiety.

No more vodka. Never again.

* * *

Chi Chi opened her front door with a sigh, eyes raking over the place judgmentally. She just couldn't understand what was going through Bulma's head. It was like the harder she tried to help her friend, the more of a mess Bulma made! Chi Chi sighed again, this time more loudly as she surveyed the couch cushions littered on the living room floor, two glass tumblers awry on the table.

Chi Chi's eyes opened wide. _Two_ glasses?

And between the end table and the arm of the suede couch, a lone piece of evidence that Bulma hadn't been alone last night: a sleek black tie.

Chi Chi held her breath, and then looked up, down the hall at her friends door with confusion. It wasn't like Bulma to bring a man home.

For just a moment, Chi Chi remembered the last man Bulma had been seen with who had also been wearing a tie. Her breath froze in her lungs.

But there was just no way...In fact, the last person Bulma had been with intimately was...well, that was years ago, and that had been a serious relationship that had lasted many years. And even as she considered the possibility, the other man ghosted in her mind, and she shut down the possibility with the force of an iron door, and a few more iron doors and a tangle of barbed wire fence for good measure. Even if her friend had been capable, _he_ was not. She couldn't even picture it.

Worry coursed through her for a moment. Had Bulma brought some strange man home that could have gone through their stuff and stolen all her jewelry and good silverware? Was he in there with her now?

Chi Chi couldn't have moved fast enough. She had Bulma's door open in the blink of an eye, and she raked over her friend's room with alarm. Everything looked normal-trashed, in other words. Candy wrappers and styrofoam cups from her friend's favorite gas station, the one she got her Pepsi's from religiously every morning and evening. Chi Chi remembered because Bulma occasionally gossiped about the clerk's colorful love life. Cautiously, she inched over to her friends side, characteristically wrapped up in nine different blankets, four of them with children's cartoon characters printed all over them. One she was pretty certain she got from some wandering Native American and his mutt that stopped by to have his rust bucket looked at last year; Chi Chi had washed the damn thing several times, to Bulma's irritation, suspecting fleas.

"Bulma?" She asked, poking her friend's shoulder. "Are you alone?"

There was a faraway groan, and the blankets shifted slightly.

"Bulma?"

The blankets rustled some more, the toes curling on the foot that poked from the sprawl, letting her know her friend was indeed inside.

Slowly, Bulma pulled the blankets down to reveal a pair of sleepy eyes and a matted mess of teal hair.

"Good morning," Chi Chi greeted with evident disapproval. "Rough night?"

Bulma looked past Chi Chi sleepily and frowned with confusion. "No, why?"

Only for her eyes to widen exponentially. "Ohmygod."

"Just what the hell happened last night?" Chi Chi demanded, frustration bubbling over as she watched her friend sit up in bed abruptly and feel around her under the blankets, patting everything frantically around her. "Did you come home and get _wasted_? Or were you already drunk by the time you got home?" She accused.

Bulma's head snapped up and she glared at her friend. "What's your deal? Why are you all over my ass lately?"

"What's my deal? Why am I 'all over your ass?' I'm just trying to make sure you stay all in one piece!"

"Oh, _yeah_," Bulma agreed mockingly, "because how on earth could I make it without you to hold my hand?"

Chi Chi straightened angrily. "Sometimes you can be so immature!"

"Yeah, well, sometimes I wish you would quit sublimating your desperation for Goku to propose to you onto me or whatever!" Bulma hid her head back under the covers. "If you came in here to yell at me, kindly see yourself out!"

Chi Chi stared with barely controlled frustration at the blankets that hid Bulma, and remembered Goku's advice. _"Tell her how you feel, but hear how she's feeling too? Walk a mile in her shoes, you know."_

She sighed reproachfully and plopped down on her friend's bed, gazing at the wall, its pretty robins egg blue paint marred with greasy fingerprints and cracked plaster, remnants of a time before Chi Chi set up ground rules about working on engines in the house. _"Don't you have a whole shop for this kind of stuff?" Chi Chi had screeched as her blue haired friend looked up warily from her project beneath her bulky safety glasses._

Maybe she was just approaching this the wrong way.

"Bulma...what's going on with you? Truthfully...Is it me? Are you, like, rebelling against me? Are you...upset with me?"

Bulma peeked out from the covers again. "Why are you always trying to fix me? Why aren't I good enough for you?" Her voice was hoarse and muffled against the blankets.

Chi Chi gazed at her with regret. "Now, Bulma, I like you just the way you are-"

"Bullshit." Bulma's eyes narrowed and she turned over. Bulma may have been selective about her priorities- -cars and chocolate covered drumsticks first, replacing the empty toilet paper roll much farther down on the list- -but she wasn't stupid. It was easy to forget that, because Bulma was just so easy going. Much like Goku.

Chi Chi swallowing a protest, and tried again for understanding. "I can see why you think I'm trying to 'change' you-"

Her friend blew a raspberry into the covers.

"-but I'm doing it to help you. Look at you! Your room is a mess! Last night was a mess! My kitchen and living room are a mess! Your love life is-" Chi Chi choked on her words just as her friend whipped back around.

"What?" She snapped. "Go ahead and finish. Is that what you really think of me? That I'm a mess? That I'm not complete without a man and romantic daydreams? That I'm not grown up without some designer furniture and the need to be seen at the coolest bars in town with a bunch of snotty lawyers? Let me tell you something, Chi Chi, this is what_ I _think. You grew up a pampered, spoiled only child of a very restrictive single father. You had a closet full of dresses, a room full of dolls and doll houses, your bed was a fake castle, with a head full of romance and privilege. In return, he expected you to grow up nurturing so you'd take care of him. Freud, much? Who can say. Anything less than an A was grounds for something worse than his disappointment-your diminished self worth. I get it. You pursued your internalized father's pride your whole life, I get it. I'm not telling you anything you don't know, right?" Chi Chi gaped, torn between shock and defensiveness. "Some of us, however, didn't grow up believing being a tidy ball buster were the tell tales of superiority, however. Some of us were raised in our father's grungy workspaces, following our heads second, our hearts first. When I opened up my shop," Bulma continued raggedly, "I was the happiest I'd ever been. I finally found what I'd wanted to do this whole time, after a decade spent waffling and wasting in higher education. I wake up every day at 5 am and come home every day at 8 working my ass off to keep my shop afloat because it's what I love to do. I am a hard working woman in a field of men and have been modestly, satisfyingly successful. The fact that I eat animal crackers for dinner doesn't diminish that. The fact that I'm not afraid to walk into a Go Chicken Go and order a bucket of fried chicken and watch Alien by myself on a Saturday night doesn't diminish my value as a woman. But it does affect the way my best friend sees me. If my best friend can't be happy with me, despite that no one is hurting from my choices, despite that I'm a successful business owner, how can I call her a friend?"

Bulma stared at Chi Chi plaintively from over her Transformers blanket, her expression giving Chi Chi no quarter for dissembling.

Chi Chi felt her eyes water. Bulma never talked to her like this. Her friend was very easygoing.

Chi Chi cleared her throat, her voice trembling on her lips. "I deserved that. I'm sorry, B. I never intended to make you feel bad about yourself. I just thought I could help, make you happier."

"I don't need help, Cheech." Bulma said gently. "I need your unequivocal, unconditional support."

Bulma opened her arms forgivingly and Chi Chi laid down next to her heavily. The women lay there in swollen silence.

"Why can't you just accept that you're going to be my domestic partner for the rest of your life?" Bulma asked, smiling at the top of her friend's head.

The women giggled.

"I'm sorry I set you up with Vegeta. He's an asshole." Chi Chi finally commiserated. Bulma stiffened.

"Yep." Bulma finally agreed, neutrally. "Forget about it."

"Goku was telling me about how much of a hard ass at work he can be. I guess he's really good at what he does, though. He spends all his time at work, very ambitious, and hard working. Occasionally he goes out with the guys, the bachelors of the firm, you know, Nappa and Bardock and Turles, and they always complain he doesn't know how to cut loose," Chi Chi gossiped quietly, flicking her silky bangs out of her eyes.

Bulma snorted. "I can believe it." _Although he certainly knows how to cut loose in bed,_ she thought, remembering him pumping beneath her with a dark smirk in the moonlight. Her face heated. _Oh god. _

"So what happened? Did you go to a bar last night and hook up with someone?" Chi Chi flipped around to face Bulma. "I saw the tie on the couch. I'm kind of surprised you'd be interested in a guy who has to wear one, honestly."

Bulma looked back at her fearfully.

"You hooked up with someone," Chi Chi guessed, eyes gleaming. "_You got lucky_! Oh my, how long's it been? Like millennia? Did he have to pull out the oil to lubricate all the rusty parts down there?"

"Ohmygawddddd," Bulma moaned with anguish into her blankets before trying to kick Chi Chi off the bed, burying her flushing face into her pillow. "Get out."

"Oh my god, am I laying in the bed you guys did it in?" Chi Chi shot up. "Eeeew, was that your guys post coital sweat I was laying in!" She shrieked.

"Only you would call it 'post coital,'" Bulma complained, certain she was going to die of mortification at any moment.

"I've got to take a shower now. _Ew_." She shivered dramatically, heading for the door. "How did you hide all the cookie crumbs from him? I _know_ you spent all Friday night eating cookies in bed and playing sudoku."

Bulma watched Chi Chi make her way down the hall to her room with renewed energy, balance restored between them, gut churning as she recalled Vegeta's long, slow strokes inside her, his stomach rippling with the movement, his eyes pinning her against her Rainbow Bright sheets. Sweat beaded in her hair, and her hips swayed to meet his, her bed creaking with the force of his controlled movements as he leaned down, brushing her lips with his own, his lips trailing to her ear and giving her goosebumps as he whispered dangerously, _"Nobody denies me chocolate chip cookies."_


	4. Chapter 4

Vegeta's fingertips rapped on the long oak desk as his mouth curled with sadistic pleasure. "Good. Tell them I'll be coming after the Bentley's, next," he said into the phone. "It's an open and close case. In fact, I don't want to hear any more about it. Tell him if he wants to pursue it anymore or if he's going to email me with anymore of his contrived blackmail, all of his messages will be redirected to the West City Department of Waste Management. Got it?" Someone choked out an agreement on the other line. "Good," he purred, before sitting the phone back in its cradle on the desk and standing up to pull on his suit jacket.

His eyes raked over the dusky, magnificent cityscape from the wide window on the 14th floor with impunity, and he pocketed his cellphone and grabbed the handle of his briefcase. He strode from his office and barely registered his secretary jump out of her seat and scamper after him. "The Pressman case is on my desk," he said without slowing his stride or looking her way as he headed for the elevator.

"Mr. No'Ouji, wait," she pleaded, struggling to meet his stride. Vegeta's cool mask disintegrated and he turned an unrepentant scowl at his pretty, young intern, who looked back at him fearfully. "Um, Mr. No'Ouji, this was just faxed over from Goldman's office."

"What is it," he snapped, giving the papers a look of viperous dislike. He really didn't want to deal with anymore work tonight. He'd been here since 5 am, going over this damn case so he could bury the damn thing already, and now he was going home to take a hot shower before he had to get up early in the morning to get in and out of the gym, all before his 8 am meeting.

"Um, it's about the Freeman case," she issued weakly.

He snarled. He was getting very tired of this case. It should have been in the bag already, but every time he'd kill it, the defense's reprisals at their last breath, _something_ would revive it and he'd be staring down a whole new chimera.

"Juuhachigou from Turtle and Goldman?" Vegeta's frown deepened and his eyes actually met hers, causing his secretary's heart to pitter patter at an even more alarming rate. "What in the Hell does that harpy Juuhachigou want with the Freeman case?" Before she could even attempt to offer an answer, West City's top attorney had ripped the fax out of her hands, his eyes back and forth over the text before quickly rolling it up with a deep growl. He cursed viciously, causing his secretary to flinch.

She watched the sinfully gorgeous man stride out of the office and into the elevators opposite without even acknowledging her or saying farewell, only slamming the door behind him, and she let out a breath she'd hadn't known she'd been holding before bursting into tears and rushing to her desk to pack her things, for real this time.

The man barely knew she existed, but when he did, it always ended up with her questioning why she even bothered existing. No one in the office dared to speak to him, except for the partners of the firm, who took all his chilly demands and icy dismissals in stride.

How could someone so excessively handsome be so heartbreakingly uncivilized?

The pressure from her parents for her to become a paralegal really wasn't worth this.

* * *

Warm oil dripped onto Bulma's forehead, and she swiped at it with the back of her gloved hand, managing only to smear it across her temple as she bit her tongue and cranked the socket wrench as hard as she could. With a crack, the nut broke off the bolt and clattered to the floor, and Bulma let loose a string of curses before dropping her wrench beside her and grabbing for a replacement oil pan. It seemed like every time someone brought in one of these old Fox's they were far more work than they were worth, and her boots clattered against the grating of the lift as she scooted down a bit to get a better grip on the last bolt. Her stomach rumbled ominously, reminding her it was past time to eat dinner, and reluctantly, she told it to shut its mouth as she spent yet another long night at work.

"I aught to just put up a sign that says I charge triple for these stupid lemons, motherfff- -" The bell above the front door distantly clanged.

"We're closed." She called.

"These stupid, ugh- -" Her wrench slipped _again_- -"pain in the ass- -" she grabbed for her mallet, and with a hint of guilt for taking the easy way out that would most certainly damage the part she was trying to preserve, started smacking her frustrations out on the rusted last bolt. "Mother_fucking_-"

Someone cleared their throat impatiently, and far under the car she barked, "I'll be with you in a minute."

"_Ah!_" She hollered as the last bolt snapped off and shot off down the chassis and clattered onto the floor, a cloud of dust and debris falling thickly onto her face. Bulma sputtered, clenched her eyes and scooted her butt off the lift, hopping down and making her way to the nearby sink, where she snatched a towel and rubbed at her face vigorously. "Ugh!" She exclaimed with disgust, and wiped her fingers of the worst of the oil before throwing the towel into the can and turning toward the intruder with frustration.

"Can I help...you," she finished lamely as she came face to face with the last person she wanted to see.

Vegeta looked at her from across the room with amusement, an eyebrow inching up as he leaned a little too dapperly against the counter that separated her garage from the waiting area.

"Indeed," he replied with cool measure, his expression, for the most part, neutral. "Do you have a minute?" His tone brokered no room for negotiation.

"What do you want?" She walked toward him frowning, and as she leaned forward and looked up at him from the other side of the counter, Vegeta was struck with an unfamiliar pang of...something. Her frazzled blue curls were pinned back in a tight, thick bun at the nape of her neck, strands rebelling all around. Her blue eyebrows were arched with cautious curiosity, her creamy skin slick with sweat and streaks of oil around her hairline that she had neglected while wiping her face. She was dressed in baggy, dirty gray-blue coveralls, her name embroidered across one breast and her shop name against the other, her thick soled boots toeing the floors impatiently. For the first time that he could ever really recall, Vegeta thought that the woman before him was stunningly beautiful. He hadn't known that word was even in his vocabulary.

She gave him a deep frown, before a smile lazed over her face. "Couldn't get enough, huh?"

He snorted derisively. "Hardly," he bit out with excessive force. He froze her with a look of sharp purpose. "I came here because of this." He unceremoniously shoved a roll of papers in her face, and she looked wide eyed at him before scanning the text. Her eyebrows inched up with each passing second.

"Oh, wow," she breathed. When she looked up at him, a smile inundated across her face. "This is awesome."

Vegeta growled and snatched the papers away. "Did you do this?"

She looked at him with startled amusement. "No," she answered sweetly and unapologetically insincerely. "I have no idea why she'd get involved."

"I want to know who in this neighborhood is stirring up trouble. I swear, if this is your doing-"

"Are you threatening me?" She hissed, moving around the counter to confront him and shoving her gloved knuckles onto her hips.

"And what if I am?" He replied dangerously. "I could have this whole block wiped out if I wanted to. I am, after all, a bit player in a Congressman's defense. Then where would you be?"

Her eyes glittered with malice and she clenched her teeth squarely. "Listen here, you overbearing little squirt, there are more than enough tools in this shop to kill you with-"

"You didn't think I was so little Saturday night," he retorted rakishly.

To his surprise, Bulma's small fist gripped his suit jacket lapel, and she grit up into his face. "If you think for a moment you can threaten me, I will have every law firm set on you like vultures on carrion to take Bardock Vejita and Sons down. If you think for a moment that I am some naive buck toothed backwoods little girl pretending to play hard ball, think again. I have a very personal relationship with Baba, Korin, Juuhachigou, Turtle _and_ Capsule Corporation litigators, and I will have your career and reputation smeared across the pavement," she seethed into his face as he bared his teeth at her, their eyes boring into one another's.

"Try me," he seethed back.

"Is this man causing you trouble, Miss Bulma?" A warbling voice issued behind him, and Bulma's eyes flicked over Vegeta's shoulder, her grip loosening on his suit.

"This man couldn't hurt me if he tried." She smirked, sending Vegeta a loaded glance, and in so doing earned a string of nasty curses from inside Vegeta's head.

Vegeta smoothed his shirt and turned around to see a wrinkled old man with a painfully bent back and ashy, dark skin, staring between him and the infuriating woman. Vegeta held back a barely restrained snort. It was as if everything was sent topsy turvy with his proximity to this woman, careening towards a Feast of Fools where his power suddenly meant nothing and his subordinates mocked him with a parody of magnanimity!

"You sure you don't need me to walk him out?"

This time Vegeta did snort, and he crossed his arms and walked to the other side of the room with his back to them doggedly. Bulma shot him a dirty look and turned to the old man. "It's no problem Eddy. I'm getting ready to lock up now," she reassured him.

"I just thought I'd check up on you," he said firmly, sending the visitor another assessing look before tipping his hat to her. "Another late night for ya I see. Well, we'll see you tomorrow."

"Alright, Eddy. Thanks. Tell your wife I said hi, and thank you for the cookies. They were heavenly," she smiled, walking him out the door.

The old man chuckled as he walked out the doorway. "Yes ma'am. You know she has a hard time sharing them with me when she makes 'em, but she always shares 'em with you."

Vegeta heard Bulma call out bye and watched her wave out of the corner of his eye. He had just a second to inspect the photos and rummage through the various debris on the countertops and the walls which caught his eye.

It didn't take long for his heart to jump into his throat. He moved his face closer to the framed portrait and blinked. There it was, undeniably-a photo of Bulma when she was much younger, holding a giant check next to a stout man with thick glasses underneath a Capsule Corporation banner. The check was made out to her for the sum of twenty thousand dollars, and in the notes, "From the Peabody School of Astrophysics and Engineering." Next to this astounding record of achievement were four more: each a diploma, clearly at the doctorate level, all dated a decade ago or more in different fields of hard science. Next to the grubby, blocky phone were framed lesser-certificates for automotive, collision repair, welding and restoration, and as he turned back to the dirty little woman with an open jaw, he wondered just who in the hell he was dealing with.

But as she turned back to him, a frown marring her pretty little features, he didn't get the chance to ask.

"Is that your Type 14 coupe out there?" She hooked her thumb at the doorway, her tone surprisingly balking.

Instantly, Vegeta's growing frustration with the night melted, and a slow, impish smile unfolded over his face.

"Why, yes," he drawled, picking up his briefcase and sauntering over to her before standing before her, his chest and face just inches away from her. "Yes it is. I told you I was a man of good taste," he purred, dipping his head down to look at her from under his lashes boyishly.

He opened the door with his arm, his waspish smile growing as he nodded towards the door. She responded with a smile of her own, and she turned, walking out the door under his arm to inspect the svelte, cream colored VW Karmann Ghia in the streetlight, glittering. She crossed her arms and paced around it, peering into the windows, Vegeta's pleasure growing as he saw her eyebrows rise fractionally upon viewing the restored, pristine burgundy leather interior.

"May I?" She called, rounding the back of the car and lingering, waiting for his okay.

He frowned slightly, before nodding. If there was any woman he could trust touching his car, it was probably her.

She reached down and popped the back open, where, to her delight, a shiny air-cooled engine sat neatly tucked into the back hatch.

She looked up at him with barely restrained eagerness. "I pinned you for a sports car kind of guy, but this is only a size 1200 cubic centimeter engine." She fixed him with gleaming eyes, and he realized with confusion that he'd moved closer to her as he stared down at her delicate, round face. "I could put a 1600 in her for you. Your gas mileage wouldn't suffer too much, and you could at least drive on the freeway then. You know. If you'd like."

He watched her wrestle with her desire to share her love of cars with him and her increasing certainty that it was a risk to do so. She chewed on her lip subconsciously, and he watched her do it, until she blushed, and he realized what he'd been doing.

There was something in him that jumped at the opportunity to surprise her. "I'd rather have coffee with you first. Don't you think swapping out my engine is jumping the gun a bit?" He smiled as she flushed a deep scarlet, knowing full well that they'd already jumped the gun Saturday night, and she angled her head to the side to hide it.

Before he knew what he was doing, he was turning her face back to his with his fingertips and pressing his molten smile against that bottom lip lightly, relishing it more than he cared to admit. After a moment, she returned the kiss slightly.

"Meet me for a coffee tomorrow at 6 at The Roasterie. Then we can discuss this debacle of a case." He looked at her pointedly, and she returned his serious mien.

"I will not buckle on this, Vegeta," she said firmly, looking up into his dark eyes in the streetlight.

He looked down his nose at her before blowing a chuckle out between his lips and moving to open his car door, tucking his briefcase into the sliver of a backseat. He moved toward her again and gazed down at her with rarely seen consideration. "I don't want you to," he admitted gruffly, before running his thumb lightly down her jaw and turning away to slide into the drivers seat.

The decades old sports car started up smoothly, aside from the characteristic air-cooled clacking that Bulma had grown to love over the years. Vegeta shut his door and rolled down the window.

"Tomorrow. Six o'clock. Don't be late." He demanded gruffly, before tilting back his head with a devilish smile and setting the car into gear.

"I told you I have good taste," he crooned, fixing her with a very self-satisfied smile, and took off out of her small, weedy parking lot and down the street, leaving her blushing in her coveralls, her thumb on her cheek where his had been, watching the Ghia's red taillights winking down the dark industrial street with wonder.

There was an echoing clang to her left, and she turned to see Eddy packing up his painter's ladders and giving her a coy wink from his wrinkled face. She bolted back inside and closed the shop door staunchly behind her.

* * *

Chi Chi frowned down at her computer, her pen rapping the keyboard. She was in a pickle. She didn't know how he had gotten her email, but he had, and he was hitting right to the heart of the matter.

She chewed the top of her pen.

She placed the pen between her teeth buccaneer-style to free her hands, brushed her hair out of her eyes and put her long fingers to the keyboard.

_I really can't speak for Bulma, but I will let her know that you would like to see her._

She stared at the screen uneasily and then preceded to tap the backspace button.

She began again, this time more animatedly.

_With all due respect, I really don't think it's my job to play middleman between you and Bulma regarding a relationship I really have no understanding of, and I resent you sending this email._

She worried her lip and, again, hit delete uncomfortably.

That was too mean. Even if it was what Bulma wished she'd say.

Her cell began chiming, and seeing it was _'_Goku Bby 333' (something she would take TO THE GRAVE), she picked it up.

"Hey, you," she answered.

"Hey," his sunny voice sang clearly. "What's up?"

She sighed. "Not working. Don't tell anyone."

Goku laughed on the other end of the line. "Your secret's safe with me."

She sighed again, her eyes pinned to her computer screen. "Goku...I need some advice."

"What's up?"

"I..." She stared at the white screen, the small black text, sitting innocuously in her inbox.

_Chi Chi, how are things? It's been a long time! I hope all is well with you and yours. I miss the heck out of your Dad's waffles. ;)_

_I've met your new man, Son Goku! We play baseball against each other often in this new league, believe it or not. He seems like a real good guy. Very funny. I'm happy for you._

"It's nothing," she told him.

"Are you sure?"

For all his unrivaled and unfathomable good cheer, Goku was acutely aware of the subtleties of things, and that was, in part, why things worked out so well between them. He balanced her usually uptight and critical nature that seemed to worm its way into her life through her work life, with something pure and well meaning. He was also able to read people very well. That sensitivity-and patience-towards her black mood swings sealed the deal as far as finding someone that could withstand her, and see that underneath all of her overreactions to stress, she was really just a silly girl. Albeit an uptight one. Like Bulma, he was able to bring that out in her, and she loved him for it.

However, his keen perception of people really came out when he was competing in one of the many sports leagues he poured himself into in his spare time, which was probably for the best, given Chi Chi's dense schedule. She was so appreciative that they so far could both maintain and thrive on their independence without drifting too far apart as a couple.

Though, to tell the truth, she had given thought to what things would be like if work wasn't a priority for her..._Lots_ of thought about if she had time to settle down and have children...

She wondered, not for the first time, if Goku would mind giving up his career to be a stay at home father. She knew he wasn't really emotionally invested in his job, had, in fact, only pursued it because an injury to his hip that meant he couldn't compete professionally. He'd been fortunate and had been offered a job by his uncle to make use of his measly pre-Law degree (which he'd only entertained so that he could play college sports legitimately. Of course.)

Goku had too much of his Grandpa in him for this kind of life, though. Goku's grandfather had raised him after his mother died while he was still very young; his father had grieved by ignoring the role of fatherhood and spending his every waking moment becoming West City's fiercest lawyer. Goku's grandfather was a jolly old man who cared more about home life than work life and had inadvertently imbued the same qualities in Goku.

Chi Chi wasn't sure how it happened, but the two people that were closest to her were _so _unlike her.

Although Bulma's vagabond heart was tempered by her mechanical prowess and a take-no-prisoners competitiveness that buoyed her in a field of prejudiced men, Goku's was tempered by the love of his friends, his interests, and his loved ones. She suspected he thought his friends and loved ones wanted him to advance as a paralegal. But Chi Chi had the sense to know that Goku's own heart did not take him to the junction of justice and law, and in fact, the only reason he was still even in the field because of his damned internal compass that always directed him to do the right thing. The 'right' thing was to make his father and uncle-and, she suspected, herself-happy, since he couldn't do what he really wanted anyhow.

But, if Chi Chi offered him another choice, would he find the 'right' thing elsewhere was more fulfilling?

If Chi Chi provided Bulma another choice- -indirectly!- -would her friend find her own fulfillment from someone she didn't even know she was missing out on?

She just wanted the best for her friend, and to do the right thing once in awhile. It wasn't even really manipulating events behind anyone's back if all she did was haphazardly reintroduce them to one another, right?

And to think she and Bulma might be able to settle down together at the same time, if all went well!

"It's nothing, really," Chi Chi answered, resolved. "Hey, I was wondering if you'd mind if Bulma and I dropped by the game Friday night? You'll be playing the East City Titans, right?"

"Yeah! I'd love it if you could make it. Are you sure you don't have to work late?"

"No. I wouldn't miss it," she answered softly, plans settling into place.

"Great. I can't wait. I think the guys mentioned going, too. I'll see you tonight?"

"Are you making wontons?"

"Yep. We just have to head to the store beforehand."

"Bulma will be happy to hear it."

Chi Chi's set her fingers to typing furiously before Goku even disconnected.

_This is for your own good, Bulma Briefs._

* * *

It was only after Bulma had picked up her underwear from off the floor and after a lot of cursing and twirling around that she found her flip flops tucked under the bed and realized that this might have been a bad idea. Outside, on the balcony, she could hear Vegeta's rumbling, deep voice as he snapped at someone about a document that had to be stamped and mailed by 7:30 that morning- -less than six hours away.

She really couldn't explain how they'd ended up this way- -again. She had met him for coffee as promised Tuesday evening and they'd wound up making out desperately in the alley between the coffee bar and a record shop. Nothing had even been resolved between them about the case, as little as Bulma had a hand in it anyway. They'd argued, like usual, and he had to know by now how she felt about the debacle and why only a terrible person would prosecute the case. In return, he'd called her a slew of names all revolving around being a tree hugging socialist nitwit and had asked her venomously just how in the hell a small business owner could be such a bleeding heart red-flag waving shame.

They had thrown on their jackets and scarves-he looking too dashing and subdued in his for her comfort-and had walked outside to continue their conversation over a cigarette. Only for her to end up pushed up against the wall under the onslaught of the sexiest, most exacting, thigh-rubbing kiss she'd ever had in her life.

She was still surprised he hadn't had anything to say about doing it in her VW bus- -really surprised- -which had a lot more room than his Ghia, she supposed. She hadn't messed around with someone in a car since she was sixteen and let Brad Ersley touch her boobs in his Ford Mustang. Yeah, those were the glory days.

Despite the body wracking orgasm she'd had underneath him on the floor of her bus, her palm shoved against the wall and the other looped tightly around his neck, she hadn't expected him to come calling again tonight, because, well, _hello_- -West City's best lawyer (cue eye roll) had let himself be reduced to a fuck in a rusty '67 van in a well lit parking lot. She really hadn't expected him to be a happy camper about that one; the man's pride was stupidly enormous. Almost as big as, well, _you know_. But then again, she hadn't expected him to come by the shop Monday...or to tell the truth, even stay the night Saturday. And yet, here they were again, this time at his place, hunting her clothes under swank couches and between the bed and wall, and she couldn't venture a guess to what he was getting out of it.

Clearly, she wasn't Vegeta's type. It was evident what kind of women he'd been with in the past, and she was just barely the same species as them. As she pulled up her holey white briefs and shined her phone light around the berber floor looking for her work shirt, she poured over the reasons he'd keep pursing her.

1.

The sex was good. It was really good. It was stupidly, earth shatteringly, deliciously amazing. Was sex always this good? She didn't remember it being so _hot_. Like the sex was in the movies and in rap videos. Maybe she was just easy to please, but why would he keep putting himself in her way if he wasn't getting anything out of it, too? That was weird to think about.

2.

She had no previous experience to call on when it came to this hooking up, booty call stuff.

What was casual sex supposed to be like? How did you look each other in the eye afterward? How did you not feel kind of strange about someone having a first hand experience with how much hair covered your privates but not knowing your last name? She knew she wasn't supposed to get emotionally involved, so this didn't really require any scrutiny, right? So maybe he was just taking advantage of her naivety? Maybe he was trying to pull the wool over her eyes, you know, about...how much of a sexy man he was. Maybe he was trying to get the milk without buying the cow, or something. Wait, that didn't add up.

It's not like she could have said no had he handed her a contract that first time between her legs and said, "So you're obviously not my type, and I would never take you home to my mother, but I'd like to bump uglies. Sign here, here, aaaand here, and initial here." And she would have!

He was hot, what could she say? She was going to have to start DVRing the Simpsons each night if he kept intruding into her evenings. He was stupid hot, and he was kind of funny. Was he? Bulma wasn't sure 'funny' was the way to describe it. But he was definitely...interesting. And when was the last time she'd gotten laid anyway? She had to put her binoculars on to see that far into her past.

She understood he was rough around the edges, was high maintenance (in ways other than commitments, anyway), and could be very critical and competitive, which was respectable but mostly just irritating. She kind of liked that about him though. He didn't mince words, he was unfailingly proud of his thoughts and interests, and he was apt to be very selective in them. She was confident that whatever he liked or thought, there'd be a good reason for it, and even if she didn't agree with it, she found herself growing to like those things through his confidence in them. He was logical, and she was illogical, and somewhere, they kinda met in the middle.

Not that they'd done much talking...it was weird to think that she'd spent more time underneath him than discussing these kinds of things with him. But it didn't feel unnatural. Was there a Facebook relationship status that described them?

So, anyway, she kind of liked the things that defined him, and she felt that he got that about her, and kind of...respected her for it.

Leading to

3.

He was using her.

...As stress relief. But...wasn't that what casual sex was all about? A moments vacation from the rigamarole of life? Could she really fear being viewed objectively if she were consenting to this casual sex stuff?

She shrugged on her jacket over her 'B's Dub's' baseball T and checked to make sure her keys and cards hadn't tumbled out of her pockets in the ruckus tonight. She'd be happy when the weather got warmer. It had been an exceedingly cold, long winter, and the nights were just beginning to lose their hold on the day. West City hadn't seen any flurries for weeks. In a month or two, she'd be able to ride her old Honda cafe racer to work. The Bus didn't have a heater box. Brrr.

The glass door slid open. She looked over her shoulder as she pulled her wooly, fingerless gloves over her hands and wiggled her hat on over her hair, adjusting the ear flaps.

Vegeta's silhouette was a shadow against the sliding glass door, the light smell of tobacco wafting in after him.

He didn't say anything, and to Bulma's surprise, it wasn't really awkward. In fact, she smiled a little as she tugged her jacket cuffs over her mittens, watching him watching her.

"Later," she said, giving him a small wave.

He approached her, and his face was impassive as he said, "Let me see you out."

"Whatever, tough guy," she remarked, following him through the modern condo, passing a wall of glass panes in the dark living room which opened to an expansive lawn.

He opened the door into the softly lit outside corridor of the complex and jerked her back by her ear flappies right as she stepped over the threshold, giving her a surprisingly delicate kiss.

"Be safe," he graveled, and she nodded, unable to deny a smile as she flicked a stray tuft of hair from his forehead that had been mashed and weighed down with sweat as he rocked underneath her, his head pressed into the pillows and headboard as she had surged against him, her chest mashed into his.

"You know the Bus doesn't get much faster than 40 miles per hour," she smiled, before winking and turning to make her way down the stairs to the small, landscaped parking lot, unaware that Vegeta watched her the whole way with his own small smirk.


	5. Chapter 5

Bulma had tried her damnedest to make it to Goku's game on time, really she had. But it was a Friday night, and it seemed she was so _very_ vulnerable to Murphy's Law.

One guy came in at 4:30, plumes of smoke billowing from under his hood, yelling about forgetting to change the oil; and then Frank, her least favorite tow truck guy, came in honking at a quarter to five with an old Rabbit that had definitely seen better days. She'd barely had time to wash her hands before she'd slid into the cracked leather seats of her VW Bus, ripped open a box of Cheez-Its and urged her beloved toaster of an automobile to 55mph in an effort to make it to Goku's game at least fashionably late.

She carefully parked the box on wheels at the farthest reaches of the parking lot in front of the sprawling community center, jerking the wheel with all her strength as the old power steering fought her.

Putting the bus into neutral and cranking the emergency brake, Bulma spared a glance in the cracked, grimy sun visor mirror to make sure she looked alright.

Her hair was out of her face, thanks to a ratty red handkerchief, at least. The thin wife beater-style tank she wore under her sherpa-lined leather jacket and her stained, torn work jeans were just gonna have to do. At least Chi Chi wasn't trying to set her up again, so she had no one to look put together for. She could just relax in the bleachers with some snack food and a beer and watch good looking men throw a ball around.

After jogging through the parking lot and up the stairs into the huge building, to her delight she spotted a food stand, and she went ahead and ordered a cheese dog and a beer before making her way with hurried strides to the baseball section of the complex, chowing down as she went.

Cossing into the huge auditorium that held the pristine baseball field, its astroturf a vivid green against the crisp white baseball triangle and baseball players milling around doing…baseball things, Bulma worried her lip, wondering how in the heck she was going to find Chi Chi in the crowd.

To her relief, she spotted Launch and Juuhachigou. She had a surge of nostalgia. They had affectionately nicknamed Juu 'Eighteen' after an overly attached friend-with-benefits had lost his temper with her in front of them one night, accusing Juu of being an "unfeeling robot." Bulma had burst into hacking laughter, spraying the man in the face with beer as she giggled uncontrollably, making Chi Chi and Eighteen to scream with laughter as the jilted man slunk out of the bar, his shoulders stiff around his ears.

That was back when she and the girls shared a townhouse, when every Friday night was girl's night, and she was the only one who went home to a significant other. Now it seemed all her girlfriend's had meaningful relationships except her, Bulma thought sourly.

The women stood loitering in the aisle a few dozen feet ahead, showing every sign of being apathetic to the game behind them, their chic, brightly colored pants clashing with their boredom, and she made her way down to them.

The woman spotted her. "Long time no see," Launch's rough voice called out, and the two women shared a hug, Eighteen bending to kiss Bulma's cheek cooly. "Here for Chi Chi and Goku?"

"Yep," Bulma agreed, chomping down on the last chunk of her cheese dog. "Do you know where she is," she asked with her mouth full.

Without uncrossing her arms, Juu pointed down toward the dugout, and Bulma peered past her to see Chi Chi in the front row, sitting with her legs crossed in her tailored pants and heels, her heel tapping, looking very much out of place.

Bulma smiled wide at the women. "She certainly looks excited to be here!"

They all shared an understanding chuckle.

She threw her empty hot dog wrapper in the nearby trashcan and looked at the two women in front of her curiously. "Sorry gals, I've barely ate all day. So why are you ladies here? I haven't seen you in over a year, Launch! Not since last year's Christmas party."

Eighteen broke out into a snicker.

"In fact," Bulma continued, smiling deviously, "it was when you were being dragged out by Tien after decking Roshi for trying to take an upskirt shot. How is Tien? How's the bounty hunting business?"

Tossing her thick blonde hair over her shoulder and crossing her arms over her chest, oblivious as usual to their teasing about her relationship and her career path, Launch shrugged. "We're good." Then she grinned evilly and elbowed Eighteen in the ribs, which earned her an icy glare. "We're here watching Eighteen's _boyfriend_ play."

"Boyfriend?" Bulma squealed.

She turned to Eighteen in shock. "Since when did you _date_?"

To her amazement, Eighteen blushed lightly, her cornflower blue eyes sliding to the ground self consciously, her pale blonde hair swinging to obscure her delicate face as she turned away to hide her embarrassment. She turned back to the women stiffly.

"Yeah, well, don't be so smug about it. Yamcha's here, too." She jut her thumb over her shoulder.

"_What?!_" Bulma yelped.

"Oh, oh _noooo_." Bulma looked at them pleadingly. "That's not possible. It's been..."

"Three years?" Launch offered, smirking. "Go down and say hi, B, he was asking about you."

"Oh god." Bulma felt her grip tighten on her beer and she stared at them with wide eyes. "That's just...that's just _dandy_."

Abruptly swigging the rest of her beer and tossing the empty bottle in the trash with a delicate burp, she muttered, "I'm going to need more of these."

Launch laughed throatily. "Is he really that bad, Bulma? You guys seemed so happy together. Tien still talks to him every now and then."

"Krillin is good friends with him," Eighteen added, before realizing her blunder and looking at her fingernails cooly as if she'd never said anything.

The scruffy, blue haired woman glared at them. "Go nose for gossip somewhere else, ladies." She blew the wayward strands of hair out of her face, casting her eyes to the sky, and sighed. "Well, I'll be hiding under the bleachers behind the dugout, if you need me."

"I have no doubt I could find you," Launch promised, and Bulma snorted at her old friend's obnoxious confidence as she stepped down the stairs, waving over her shoulder, her boots hitting the cement with solid thunks.

It'd been a few years since she and Launch had really talked, but it was clear she hadn't changed a bit. Bulma felt a little relieved by the fact.

Launch had dropped out of grad school early on to join a small bounty hunting business, which suited her much, much more than academia did. Bulma and Chi Chi suspected she'd only signed up for school in her dogged pursuit of some guy from East City that everyone laughingly agreed wasn't even into her gender. Launch had always been impulsive, but without the common sense that Bulma had not to chase after a man who clearly swung the other way.

Well, not that sleeping with a man that was cold, abrasive, cocksure, and for the most part entirely uninterested in being friendly was sensible, Bulma reminded herself. But, well, as much as Bulma wanted to psychoanalyze, dissect, and take apart her and Vegeta's...relationship, she couldn't make heads or tails of it. She wasn't even sure where to start. His body just kind of, well, sang a song that only she could hear.

That was probably where she and Launch differed. Launch lacked even the curiosity to be self reflective. She just went charging straight ahead toward what she wanted, which was fine. Different strokes for different folks.

Bulma, on the other hand, had spent years lacking self esteem and letting self doubt encroach on every facet of her young adult life. She had used it conveniently to stay in a field she didn't care for one bit, and to shield herself from the growing, heavy dissatisfaction with her relationship with Yamcha. She'd decided to turn a new leaf after their breakup and focus on her own needs. Well, that might have been an exaggeration...she'd not really deliberately turned into a flaky mess so much as she was probably, a little bit running away from her emotions.

She had developed a routine to keep from having to be pensive anymore: work, work, sleep, work, and microwavable and/or pre-packaged food that didn't require much pomp and circumstance, aaaand…work. No more making sure dinner was on the table for a man promptly at five.

There _was_ a difference between she and Launch, Bulma assured herself.

Which is why, when she sat down next to Chi Chi, startling the woman who returned the favor by lightly punching Bulma's shoulder, she gave her a big squeeze. Despite the way time seemed to pull everyone in different directions, despite their hang ups, she could still count on Chi Chi to be there for her.

Chi Chi's dark eyes widened. "Where have you been?" Chi Chi glanced at her watch. "You're forty seven minutes late!"

"I know," Bulma admitted, sighing. "I'm sorry. Things got busy at work last minute. You know how it goes."

Chi Chi snorted delicately. "Uh huh. Well, you've totally missed this most riveting first few innings." She gestured lamely at the game.

"Uh huh." She unzipped her jacket and tossed it on the empty chair beside her. "So I ran into Launch and Eighteen on my way down here-"

Chi Chi turned to her excitedly. "YES! Okay, do you see that player in the red jersey near the middle base, whatever it is."

"Second?"

"Yes. Number seven? Do you see him?" Chi Chi could barely contain her glee.

She pointed towards the field, where a short, well built man with a shaved head hovered, watching the pitcher wind up with firm concentration.

"Uh, Cheech...that's Krillin." Bulma stared at her friend as if she were stupid.

"_Krillin_ is Eighteen's new man."

"What?" Bulma crowed, looking at Chi Chi incredulously. "But, he's so _nice_. She grinds nice guys under her heels!"

"I know! But apparently, for some reason or other, she likes this one! And he's, like, a whole foot shorter than her," Chi Chi whispered to her conspiratorially, before leaning back and smoothing her pant legs. "They're actually really adorable together," she amended. "They have this funny chemistry." She smiled out at the field before them. "And Launch, ohmygoodness...She told me earlier that Tien's 'friend,' Chiaotzu or whatever, is _living_ with them."

Bulma gasped. "Like, a love triangle? Is it polyamory when your lovers despise each other?"

The women shared a few giggles.

"They told me Yamcha is here somewhere," Bulma griped, folding her arms and slouching against the metal seat.

Chi Chi looked out of the corner of her eye at her friend. "Oh yeah? That's weird."

"Hopefully we won't cross paths."

"Why not? He's a nice guy. It might be good for you guys to reconnect," Chi Chi suggested neutrally.

Bulma guffawed loudly. "Yeah, right."

Chi Chi frowned, before a devious smiled played on her lips. "I've never known Bulma Briefs to be afraid of saying hello to someone," she teased.

"I'm not," she protested, taking the bait and earning a little sly smile from Chi Chi in the process.

"I think you should at least say hi. Otherwise he's going to think you're afraid of him." Chi Chi poked Bulma in the ribs and then watched her friend's expression go from frustrated refusal to reproachful, but begrudging acceptance.

Bulma sat up. "Look, I'm going to go get another beer. Do you want one?"

"Gross. No thanks," she sniffed.

"Your loss, princess," Bulma called on her way up the stairs, and Chi Chi finally noticed that she was still in her dirty work clothes and repressed a growl. How was she going to woo Yamcha back dressed like that? She needed to have another talk with Bunny.

Chi Chi let out a small huff and turned back to the game sulkily.

* * *

Vegeta stared at the baseball game, oozing boredom, slouching in his seat with his arms crossed. Pouting like a teenager, his menacing scowl was still a fair warning to anyone who came within twenty feet of him.

Some loser threw a ball at another loser and he rolled his eyes. He didn't know why he'd accepted Goku's overture to come watch this 'game,' nor Nappa's ludicrous idea to cap the night off at the swanky gentleman's 'club' he'd so far been successful avoiding all these years. It all sounded pretty beneath him, but he'd needed something, anything, to distract him. There was a particular blue haired woman that was pulling his thoughts every which way, at work, at the gym, at the loneliest hours of the night.

He'd so far been successful having little to no interest in keeping a woman around for more than a night. But now his conviction that women were only good for one thing was trembling and fraying at the seams. He didn't _like_ change, he didn't _want_ change. He liked being in control- -and at work, at the gym, in his refusal to go through the motions of a relationship with some woman, _he_ was in control of his life.

Why go through all the empty gestures and trivialities of dating? For what? What was the payout? Being tamed? Unfulfilled? Controlled? Bored? Vegeta liked life just the way it was, a life where he was at the top. Not some woman.

And yet, she pulled at the edges of his every thought, hemmed the corners of every decision he made, hummed through the signatures he put to paper and thrummed though his body as he was soaping up in the shower. Sex was not worth becoming enslaved for- -oh yes, _enslaved_ and indebted for- -and he reminded his body of this as he tried to ignore the rigid erection heavy between his legs, and as he scrubbed at his hair with frustration.

But she was not any other woman.

So he'd accepted the idiots' invitation to go out, because it would prevent him from driving over to her shop, tossing her over the car she was working on, and sinking himself into her, prevent him from watching her mouth part and her vivid eyes gaze up at him with half lidded approval and prevent his own grating pleasure from it. Coming here to stare unseeing at the game would prevent him from spending _four_ nights with her this week, which was intolerable! and outrageous!, given he'd met her such a short time ago. It was _not_ something he wanted to admit to anyone, especially himself. Especially because he'd had an ulterior motive to get her to talk on the case which was becoming obscured by _feelings_.

He heard the guys share a bawdy joke, their guffaws erupting around him, distantly heard them take shots at one another with barely registered contempt for them. What was she doing right now? Was she curled up underneath the chassis of a car, her small hands working a wrench, biting the corner of her lower lip as a million thoughts swirled in that head of hers...He could see her generous lips parting as she turned towards him, skin bright with a sheen of sweat from the heat of her desire for him, her hips peaking from her low rise jeans invitingly...

"_Vegeta,"_ she'd moan.

"Vegeta," Raditz called flatly. "_Earth to Vegeta_. Where are you tonight?"

Vegeta growled and looked the other way.

"Aw, c'mon Vegeta, we're going to Brassieres soon. Cheer up," Nappa cajoled, his big voice projecting around them, flustering Vegeta.

"Lower your voice. You look like an idiot and you're making me look like one, too," Vegeta snarled.

Raditz smirked. "We're going to grab a beer. Come on, grandpa. Just chill for once."

Vegeta fixed them both with a scathing glare before hopping off the bleachers and heading up the stairs. "Fine."

The men made their way up the stairs and to the bar across from the entrance to the field, and as the two idiots chattered on about loose women, Vegeta stuck his hands in his pants pockets and considered escaping.

Maybe she'd be at the shop? It was likely she was spending another long evening there.

And he ran his fingers over his face and sighed.

"Bulma," he heard Raditz call, like he had plucked the thought of her right out of his head, and Vegeta's head whipped around.

And there she was, her back turned to him, at the head of the line, collecting two beers in each hand after handing the cashier a ten. Her dirty shirt rode up around her jeans, the creamy skin of her hips peering out beneath it, and she turned to the men with a sharp smirk that had his gut churning. She raised a pretty little eyebrow at the men in front of him, and he realized she didn't know he was there. He could see a smear of grease on her earlobe that he had the strangest urge to lick.

"Raditz," she greeted snidely, and the sound of her voice made his breath catch. She was full of piss and vinegar, spleen and bile. It should infuriate him, instead it just piqued a curiosity in him long thought dead. She was just a mechanic. What did she have to be so proud about?

"Why on Kami's green Earth are you here? Don't you have a Playgirl calendar photo shoot to attend?"

"Is all that booze for you?" Nappa asked her playfully, and Raditz smirked snootily. "_Someone's_ got a problem."

She rolled her eyes, and he watched from behind Nappa, his fists clenched in his pockets, trying to appear disinterested but trying not to be noticed as he listened in.

"Oh, please, Nappa. You go through ten times this amount of booze before breakfast."

"He takes that much cock before breakfast," Raditz joked dreadfully, and Nappa elbowed him in the ribs.

"Oh, is that what you've been using in your hair, Raditz?" Bulma asked innocently. "If you'll excuse me, gentlemen, I have much more important things to do, like drink myself into a stupor and hope it makes seeing my ex more bearable. Which sounds infinitely more enjoyable than sticking around for your cum jokes, boys. Cheers," she smiled, before beginning to walk away.

Bulma nearly stumbled as she made eye contact with Vegeta. Her smile vanished, replaced by, of all things...a blush.

It was as if time slowed, and predatory, wanton instincts emerged to the surface of the man. He smiled, a slow, sincere, dastardly smile that increased in size with the color in her cheeks.

She made her way quickly down the stairs.

"What a bitch."

"Tell me about it."

"I'd hit it though." Nappa popped a nacho chip into his mouth.

Vegeta turned to the men waiting on their drinks with a new, roiling emotion.

"I'd say she's still mad at you Vegeta," Raditz chuckled. "She didn't even say hello."

Vegeta settled for a compromise between his anger and his desire to repress it; he grabbed the frosty mugs from the counter as soon as the cashier set them down and kicked both Raditz and Nappa in the back of the knees, sending each careening to the ground in varying degrees of grace and curses.

"_Neither_ of you get to hit that," he dictated, before walking smoothly after her.

* * *

Bulma plopped down beside Chi Chi with a sigh. "Cheech, I need to ask you something."

"What," Chi Chi replied boredly as she watched the baseball game with infinite disinterest.

"This is real talk. And you can't judge me. Don't judge me!" Bulma's voice rose as she set her beers beside her. Chi Chi raised an eyebrow at their number and then looked up at Bulma. "Okay. Shoot." She crossed her legs and folded her hands in her lap.

Bulma buried her head in her hands. "Okay. I really don't know who else to talk about this with, so here goes..."

Bulma peeked between her fingers at her friend, whose perfectly straight, silky hair lay around her clear, narrow face, her coral blouse matching her lip stain perfectly as she gazed at her friend's modest, prettily lined eyes. Ugh, why was Chi Chi so perfect?

"Cheech...I need to know..." She lowered her wavering voice, and glanced around. "What is a one night stand supposed to be like?"

"What?" Chi Chi exclaimed.

Bulma shoved her fingers to her friend's lips and glanced around nervously. "Shut. Up!"

"Okay, okay," Chi Chi whined, swatting her hand away. "But why are you asking me this? Didn't you just have one?"

Bulma looked away with embarrassment. "I guess so."

"So...what exactly are you asking me?"

"I just..." Bulma threw her hands up and then laid them in her lap forlornly. "I'm just...worried I'm not doing it right."

"What do you mean? Wait, like present tense, 'doing?' Bulma, has there been more than one time?"

Bulma hid her mortification behind her beer bottle.

"You slut!" Chi Chi playfully punched her in the shoulder. "Like, with a different guy, or the same one?"

"The same one," came Bulma's muffled, weak reply behind the sweating bottle.

"Why are you so hung up about this?" Chi Chi asked suspiciously. "It's not like you to be worried about what other people think."

"It's just, I'm new to this, alright?!" Bulma shoved the beer into her lap with frustration. "I don't know how I'm supposed to act around him, or feel about it..."

"Has Yamcha really been the only one you've- -you know," Chi Chi whispered.

"Yes," Bulma confided defensively.

"So this guy's your second?"

"Yes."

"Holy shit Bulma Briefs, it's like he took your second virginity! Did you bleed? Did he rebreak your hymen?"

"Shut up!" Bulma stomped on Chi Chi's foot.

"You're going to scuff my heels!" Chi Chi whined, but giggled. "Sometimes you're so precious, Bulma."

"I knew I shouldn't have talked to you about this," Bulma complained, rising and grabbing for her jacket.

"Bulma, don't go," Chi Chi cried, pulling her back down. "I'm sorry."

Bulma grumbled under her breath and sat back down even as she threaded her arms through her jacket.

"Look, having a casual relationship...it has its advantages. When dating, you spend all this time pretending to be someone else," Chi Chi remarked wryly. "With hookups, you get straight to the good part." She shrugged and looked at Bulma with barely contained condescension. "You're such a day dreamer. Don't make more to this than there is."

Bulma looked at her friend disbelievingly and then picked her longnecks up from the ground.

"This night has been a clusterfuck and it just started. I'm going home and watching all one million seasons of the Flintstones." She rose. "Thanks for the talk," she remarked caustically. "Now I know how you really feel about me."

Chi Chi looked at her go worriedly. "See you later tonight, I guess."

Bulma heard Chi Chi say something under her breath as she marched her way up the stairs, bristling, and chose to ignore it. What a waste of time. What did she mean don't make more to this than there is? This was the woman who made it her life's work trying to find her a suitable husband.

And then it happened.

"Hey, B."

Bulma's head snapped up.

Yamcha stood in front of her at the top of the stairs, leaning against the rail, smiling quietly.

Bulma's heart dropped.

The collar of his pale yellow jersey lay open against his thick, tan neck, the thin line of a long, forgotten scar that jut across one eye almost charming. He was taller and broader than she remembered, his biceps bulging as he uncrossed his arms to adjust his baseball cap, smiling handsomely.

"Hey," she struggled to say.

"Hey! It's been awhile." He regarded her intently, his cheerful light brown eyes dispelling any awkwardness between them.

"Yep."

"How have you been? I heard you've opened up a car repair shop. I wouldn't have guessed you'd quit law to work on cars, but I guess you were always complaining about how bored you were with it." _I guess you never knew me very well,_ she thought darkly.

But he regarded her warmly. "Look at you." Yamcha gestured at her, and Bulma looked down at herself. "You look well. You look great. You look really great."

"How's Puar?" She asked, tongue thick, mouth dried up.

"Puar's fine. She's great, actually. Just got her a new cat jungle gym, you know, the carpeted tunnels. They go all over my living room. It's pretty cool, actually."

Bulma smiled weakly. She felt weirdly out of body. She should _not_ be smiling!_ Back straight, Bulma Briefs! Guns ready! Hello? Bulma? _"Those are the best. Wish they made them for people."

"That would be wild. Something to cross off my bucket list."

They shared an odd laugh.

"Well, I'm just getting out of here...maybe I'll see you around," she finished lamely.

"Yeah. Maybe I'll drop by the shop sometime?"

Bulma swallowed this weird emotion swirling up her gut.

"Sure."

Yamcha moved to the side, allowing her to pass.

"It was good seeing you, B."

Bulma walked forward stiffly, feeling like she was walking past a ghost. The ghost of a man she had once been terribly in love with, a ghost trying to convince her that he was alive again, past the gravestone of her innocent adoration.

"See you around, Yamcha."

She took a deep breath, and then let it escape through her lips.

It wasn't ten feet before she ran right into Vegeta, who stood with his hands in his pants pockets, glowering down at her.

"I swear to Kami," she began, before Vegeta plucked a beer out of her grip, "what is going _on_ tonight?"

And then to her befuddlement, right in front of the entrance to the baseball field, Vegeta yanked her to his chest and set his hungry lips against hers.

She stared up at him with surprise.

He pulled away as quickly as it began, but not without leading her forward at the small of her back and flicking off the beer bottle cap. "Come on, short stack." His hand drifted down her back and he walked off, apparently expecting her to follow.

Bulma just stood there, staring with amazement. They'd never been...publicly affectionate before. "What the _hell_ is going on tonight?"

He turned to smirk over his shoulder at her, leaving her with a few goofy butterflies. "You better get your ass in gear or I'm leaving without you."

She hustled up to his side, frowning.

Vegeta opened the entrance door for her, and Bulma missed his paranoid glancing back and forth over her head.

"What the hell is going on between us?" She asked him, nearly hysterical with bewilderment.

He strode towards the parking lot with self assured steps, leaving her behind.

"I'm so confused!" She wailed.

Vegeta whipped around, clearly agitated. "Are you coming?"

"Yes," she griped, and picked up her feet.

"Are you _sure_ you don't want to hang out with your ex-boyfriend?" He sneered.

Her eyes widened. He'd seen them talking. How did he know? Wait.

"Are you jealous?" She crooned, smiling.

"Hmph. Have you seen what he drives?"

Bulma burst out laughing and squeezed his bicep. "Indeed I have. Where are we going?"

"Your place."

"My place? Why specifically _my_ place?" She matched his stride, and they made their way toward her bus, brushing shoulders.

"Because," he replied silkily, giving her a smoky once over. "There's a theory I want to test. Something I've wanted to do since you invited me in the first time."

"Oh really?" Her eyebrow rose. "And just what is that?"

"Make you cook for me."

Her eyes widened.

"Oh, no. I told you, I don't cook."

His toothy grin grew wider.

"I think you can. And I'm going to watch you do it while I undress you."

Bulma had a hard time swallowing.

"Slowly."

His mouth got closer to her ear as he pulled her to his side, running his fingers through her hair and tangling it as they neared her bus.

"But I really just want to go home and watch the Flintstones," she protested.

"That's too bad, because _I'm_ what's happening tonight."

In the thick dusk of the cool spring night, he held her against his side as he opened her door

"Get in the bus and take us to your place."

"I'm not kicking out Scratch for you," she breathed weakly as his fingers toyed with the top of her jeans, sliding the button out of its hole smoothly and hooking his thumbs in the waist of her underwear.

"What? The cat?" Vegeta asked quizzically, before a smile spread across his face. "Then I'm not apologizing for insisting there only be one man in your bed at a time."

* * *

Bulma lay with her head buried in Vegeta's chest, dozing. Barney Rubble yammered on in the quiet of the night as her foot tingled, numb from Scratch's weight.

Once they'd arrive, he'd made her do exactly what he said he would.

At first he'd only slouched in the chair, watching her and sipping on a martini. It was only after she'd had a tantrum of frustration at her predicament, and then laughter at her own behavior, that she'd sobered as he stood and made his way toward her, his dark gaze never leaving hers. He'd peeled off her jacket as his teeth pulled gently at her bottom lip. He'd unbuckled her belt and followed her pant's descent with his mouth. She had stood in the middle of the kitchen in just her underwear and bitched weakly about the state of the sushi she was trying unsuccessfully to roll for him, and he'd responded by sucking at her clit with abandon while she leaned back brainlessly against the stove, her bare leg lazing on his shoulder.

After her knees had buckled, he finished working her into a froth in her bedroom, grinding against her with infuriating slow strokes, grinning daringly as he gripped her thighs. He'd pulled out of her slowly, leaned in close to put his searing mouth against her supple thighs as she whined. He nipped and licked his way up her ribs, causing her to laugh and which incited him to brace his hands in her sheets and bury his head in her neck and thrust with exacting, demanding urgency.

Bulma had been too exhausted to question it when, instead of leaving, Vegeta had laid down beside her and pressed himself against her back, her eyelids already fluttering heavily. But, perhaps sensing something wasn't right, Bulma had woken up awhile later, Scratch trying to reclaim the bed and her Flintstones dvd on repeat, and Vegeta was still right there, breathing deeply, his head on her red flannel Scooby Doo pillow, his intimidating features softened by sleep.

And she wondered again, this time with as much giddy pleasure as anxiety, just what he wanted from her.

Slowly she reached out to finger his hair, catching her breath as she ran her fingertips over the top of his coarse tresses. She watched his chest rise and fall, his corded throat expand and relax with his deep, consistent breaths, and she ran her thumb down his shoulder, round and firm, a boxer's shoulder.

His lips parted with the force of his relaxed discomposure, and she bent down and kissed his open mouth, tasting his lower lip lightly before drawing back to gaze at him. He lay as quiet as ever. Giggling softly, she leaned forward on her elbows and placed her palms against his cheeks, and with a growing smile, smushed his cheeks together, forcing his mouth to pout and his eyebrows to furrow. She giggled uncontrollably now, kissed the tip of his nose in apology, and lay her head against his chest, his heartbeat beneath her head. Mesmerized, she pressed her ear closer to his skin and wiggled to get comfortable.

Listening to his heart thump in his chest, one persistent, strong beat after the other, gradually led her to yawn, and then to rest her eyes, before drifting to sleep.

* * *

A/N: Everyone who has reviewed has been awesome. I'm getting really great feedback, and your perceptions of my (Akira's) characters and your own guesses to where the plot will move help me expand the story, so keep it coming! High fives for all.

In the interim, I will be working on a three part finale to Reciprocity. Yep, you heard it. Do you like dark, dramatic, angsty romance heavy on character scrutiny? Well, then, maybe you'd wanna read it. But, whatever, you don't have to if you don't want. Whatever.


	6. Chapter 6

It was only when Chi Chi was banging on the bedroom door and hollering at Bulma to wake up that Vegeta bolted upright, straight from the kind of restful, deep sleep he was not accustomed to getting. Bulma, seemingly clinically dead, emitted only a thin sigh in response.

"Get up!" Vegeta hissed, momentarily frozen. "Your insane roommate is going to walk in on us."

She inched the blankets down her face and tried to peer up at him through glazed, half open eyes.

"How do you even sleep like that without suffocating?" He added.

"What's your problem?" She croaked. "The door is locked. She'll leave me alone in a minute."

Alarm was coursing through him, and he kicked off the blankets and yanked on his pants in one swift movement. "Distract her so I can get out of here."

Bulma rose, fumbling, the blanket falling around her chest, her mane of hair perched to consume her face. "Why are you so worried about it?"

Vegeta clenched his teeth and tried not to call the woman a handful of insulting but apt descriptions. "Get some clothes on and distract her!" He wheezed, pulling his shirt over too delicious muscles, the taut things plucked like strings as he jerked his shirt over his head.

Bulma rubbed her crusty eyes of the tempting afterimage before glaring at him. "In other words, you don't want her to know about us."

"Oh, so you're reiterating what I said just now?"

Bulma's sleepy mien grew suddenly stormy. She bent forward and snatched her underwear from the floor, tugging it on jerkily under the blankets and glaring at Vegeta, who buttoned up his coat without faltering and stared out her window unseeing. Rage was building up in her chest, and she yanked a well worn band shirt over her curls and stomped toward the door. For a second, Vegeta's stony face fell into disapproval, his mouth parting in protest when he realized she was about to walk out the door in her panties, but Bulma threw open the bedroom door and stalked out of the room before he could stop her.

His bristling chagrin bolstered him and he followed after her, entering the living room just in time to see the woman's roommate and his co-worker whip around at the sound of their footsteps in the soft morning light streaming in from the skylights.

He steeled himself as his black eyes met Goku's, trying to mask his thumping heart and the sinking in the pit of his stomach. Goku stared at him with quiet surprise, eyebrows knit with puzzlement. His girlfriend's reaction was more animated, and if he'd felt more in control, he would have laughed at her. Her mouth gaping and her eyes wide as dinner plates, she gawked at the two of them, her eyes clearly understanding but her brain visibly wheeling. For once, she opened her mouth and didn't know what to say.

Bulma headed forward undeterred, her matted curls jutting out in several directions and her thin panties not completely concealing her backside, making him squirm, before he realized with some horror that they had little unicorns printed all over them.

She opened the front door calmly, her back to them all as she leaned on the door casually and waited for his exit. Every step was a tangle of conflicting humiliation and rage as he felt their eyes on his back, and although he wanted nothing more at that second than to walk out the front door and never look back, he hesitated. He wasn't really sure what he wanted in that moment; he needed a lot more time and patience than he had to sort through and decipher it all. And yet, he stalled in front of her, his body facing forward, wanting out, but his head tilting towards hers, wanting...wanting to tell her just how silly she was, to spew his grievances, wanting to make it clear just how he would not tolerate not having things his way...But he didn't have the chance.

To his utter shock, Bulma slapped him right across the ass.

"Good game, player," she said to him loudly, and his gaze jerked to hers in total, utter, furious disbelief. "I'll see that ugly mug of yours soon."

Her gaze met his from under stormy sea green eyebrows with an equal amount of near-explosive fury.

And as his mouth pulled down and he sucked in air through his nose, puffing up to put her right back in her place, she stepped back...

And slammed the door on his face.

Bulma turned, yawning wide and stretching, revealing her pale belly. She regarded Goku and Chi Chi sleepily, before sinking back into a slouch and rubbing the back of her head as she shuffled back to her room. Goku and Chi Chi watched her mutely, Chi Chi's mouth moving soundlessly.

Just as Chi Chi forced her foot to move in front of the other with the slow force of a locomotive, Bulma was meandering back out of her room, tugging up her loose jeans and shrugging on her bulky work jacket. She shoved her feet into her flip flops and tied her hair back carelessly, yawning again, loudly. "I'm gonna run and grab some coffee," she told them. "Be right back."

And she shut the front door behind her.

* * *

As Bulma strode down the sidewalk, navigating around the Saturday morning coffee shop goers and window shoppers, she congratulated herself on successfully avoiding Chi Chi's questions at a time she was in no position to answer them. Her toes were growing numb from the lingering late spring chill, and she jiggled her keys in her pocket to an angry rhythm.

However, she had _not_ found a way yet to calm down without making a scene, which was why she was walking around in circles. She had successfully stomped around the little urban square a few blocks from her apartment, sipping her coffee crossly until she realized it was gone and then chucking it into a trash can with an insulted huff. Bulma knew she was literally getting nowhere, so she palmed her keys and was now marching back towards her place, where she was going to hop into her bus, get the hell outta there, and do the only thing she could count on: bang on some shit.

And, so it was with great relief that Bulma pulled up to her quiet shop, gravel crunching under her tires loudly and parking lot empty.

She didn't waste any time unlocking the door and kicking off her sandals. She peeled her shirt off and knotted the handkerchief around her head with a no-nonsense familiarity. She stepped into her overalls and the zipper emitted a tinny protest all the way up to her neck. She shoved her feet into a pair of thick socks and work boots, lacing them up with exacting jerks.

And then Bulma stood in front of the old Bug, wrench in hand, surveying the rusty and battered thing with deep, even breaths.

Eyebrows and mouth relaxing as she planned her attack, Bulma began stomping on the jack before snaking under the car and beginning the tedious process of taking the whole thing apart.

* * *

She was closed one Saturday a week. She got _one_ weekend a month to visit her family, and that policy was firm. Today was that Saturday, and she had every intention of finishing it out there at the shop before dropping in on her parents for a late dinner.

So when the bell rang distantly, indicating someone had entered her shop despite the sign _clearly_ saying CLOSED, she'd half expected it to be another beefy man demanding that she take a look at his car. Or even her mother with a tray full of cookies, trying to lure her out from underneath a car again.

So she didn't waste any time turning around after throwing the Beetle's front seats into the corner with a clang, and was met with a wall of surprise when she saw the last person she expected: Yamcha.

"Hello," she said uncertainly.

"Hey," he greeted her, taking her in with a growing smile. "You look busy. I hope I'm not bothering you. Wow, look at this place." He looked all around slowly, noting the old movie posters, the cobwebs, the diesel exhaust-coated fluorescents. "Wow, a juke box? Very cool." He wore a nice leather jacket and khakis, and he smiled so warmly and sincerely that it melted a little of her shock and irritation from being interrupted by him.

"Yep." She stepped slowly towards him, where he hovered over her restored juke box in the corner. She managed a half smile. "It's my baby."

He flipped through her catalog, and as she approached, leaning over him to see his selection, she got a hint of his nauseatingly familiar smell, a sophisticated aftershave she didn't recognize and the cozy smell of leather.

"I don't recognize anything. Aw, nothing good in here." He sent her a smile as her face fell into a frown.

"What brings you here?" She asked cooly, wrapping her arms around her chest.

"Ah. Well." He turned back to her, running his fingers through his nicely styled hair. "Since we saw each other at the game last night, I just couldn't stop thinking about you..." He blushed scarlet and rolled his eyes. "I mean, just, what a coincidence..."

Bulma couldn't help her slanted mouth and her delicately raising eyebrow.

"I mean, I know it's been a long time, so I thought you might wanna catch up...Pizza? I know you like pizza. Antonio's?" He stuttered. It was cute, she thought distantly. As cooly as she would survey a map.

"Antonio's, huh." She smiled a bit. "My favorite pizza place."

"Yeah," he chuckled.

She sighed. "You know," she began, before gripping his shoulder with friendly rapport. "I love pizza. Why don't you give me a second to clean up," she gestured to the pile of car in the corner, "and then follow me to my folks? I'm sure they'd love to see you again. I'll get changed there and we can head over."

Yamcha beamed at her under thick lashes with boyish glee. "Really? Alright! Awesome. Let's catch up." The chirp of a cell phone began building from his pocket, and he smiled apologetically. "I'll just take this outside while you pick up the mess." He was already turning and heading out the door as she scowled slightly after him.

"My mess, huh." She moseyed forward to watch him strut to his car, kicking her gravel with the toe of his shoe as his mouth moved quietly next to his phone.

She frowned further with distaste, and narrowed her eyes before snorting. "What are you driving, Yamcha." She stared out at him silently, before rolling her eyes and heading toward the stripped down skeleton of the Beetle, waiting wordlessly for her to repair it.


End file.
